


The Best Gift

by Ladderofyears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Apparating (Harry Potter), BAMF Pansy Parkinson, Background Neville/Seamus, Besotted Harry, Bonding, Brief mention of Draco Malfoy/Cormac, Brief mention of Draco Malfoy/OMC, Charity Executives Harry and Draco, Christmas Flavoured, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Drunken Banter, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Festive Wireless Minifest, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Harry, Leaky Cauldron, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Mpreg, Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), Pining Harry, Pregnant Draco Malfoy, Pregnant Sex, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Reminiscing, Secretive Draco, Secrets, Supportive Harry, spoilers in the end notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Harry Potter's whole world is upturned when he discovers that his close friend and colleague Draco Malfoy is pregnant by an unknown wizard.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 31
Kudos: 366
Collections: Wireless Festive Minifest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the 1967 Barbra Streisand song: _The Best Gift._
> 
> Thank you to the mods of the Christmas Wireless Fest and all my friends on the Drarry Artists and Writers Discord. I couldn't have written this without your sprints, your unwavering support and your friendship.

June. 

Of all the traditions and rituals in Harry’s twenty-six years of existence there wasn’t any that he enjoyed more than Friday nights at the Leaky Cauldron. 

There wasn’t a part of their evenings Harry didn’t enjoy. 

Harry loved the feeling of being squashed into a booth at the back of the pub, the loud voices of his friends talking over each other and competing with the jukebox. Harry loved the first sweet taste of Butterbeer hitting the back of his throat and the cracked, sticky wood of the table. Harry loved the jokes, he loved the banter and he loved catching up with all the gossip. He loved the feeling of having all of the people he cared about most in the world around him. 

Truth be told, if Harry was pushed, he’d be forced to admit that these Friday nights were the very best part of his week. 

And tonight? 

Tonight had been a _classic_ Leaky evening. 

Ron had brought a hip-flask with him, filled with Firewhisky and he’d been topping up the beers over the course of the night. Hermione had been buoyant and effervescent – she’d received a promotion in the Minister for Magic’s office – and Neville had been able to join them for what seemed like the first time in months. Since he’d gotten Deputy Head of House at Hogwarts, their fellow Gryffindor had gotten to their Friday evenings less and less often and Harry had missed him. 

Best of all, was that Draco – the fellow director of Phoenix, their children’s charity and now Harry’s close friend – had come along too. 

The blond wizard was sat across from Harry, squished between Pansy and Greg. Draco often shot off straight after work so Harry was overjoyed to see him sat with the rest of the gang, drinking an orange juice and eating salt n’ vinegar crisps with those long, elegant fingers of his… 

“Earth to Harry,” Seamus laughed, pulling him from his daydreams. The Irish wizard smiled good naturedly in his direction “We’re getting another round in Potter! What’ll it be? Another Butterbeer or d’you want something stronger?” Seamus chortled, catching Hermione’s eye. “Granger here is paying, matey. Now she’s got her posh new job as the Minister’s right-hand witch!”

Hermione flushed, her cheeks pinking at the reminder of her advancement. “Hardly posh,” she said, giving Seamus’s arm a small playful punch. “I’ll just be transcribing Wizengamot notes and setting the doubling charms,” She paused. “I’ll have a gin and lemon,” she answered after a couple of beats, “which _Ron_ here will be paying for.”

Ron grinned at that. He pulled a couple of Galleons out from his wallet and slammed them down onto the table with a joky, exaggerated sigh. Harry could see how glazed his best-mate’s eyes already were. Harry privately thought that his buddy had swallowed rather more of that hip-flask than he had shared with the rest of the group.

Harry knew he had drank quite enough already too. He was already a bit too blotto to Apparate which meant he’d be making the short walk to the Diagon Floo Station before too much longer. Harry was only thankful that he’d thought to leave a hangover curative out on his bedroom table. He’d have an unbearable headache otherwise which Harry really didn’t need. He’d made plans to take Teddy to his Junior Quidditch League and Harry wanted to give his Godson the best day possible. 

“Just a pumpkin juice for me,” Harry said, when Seamus turned his brown eyes in his direction. “Got a long day tomorrow. Don’t need a sorer head than I’m going to get already.”

Seamus seemed to accept that and so he turned his attention onto Draco. 

“What can I get you Malfoy?” Seamus asked. “Get you a vodka to stick in that orange juice? Or maybe a swift brandy for the road? They do a nice honey infused one here and-”

Seamus hadn’t even finished speaking before Draco shook his head. “Nothing for me,” Draco said, holding up his half-finished glass. “Not drinking tonight. I’ve got a bit of a dicky tummy at the moment.” He gave Seamus a wry smile. “I’d better not.”

“You’ve had that ‘dicky tummy’ for bloody _weeks_ ,” Ron interrupted, his eyes shiny with drunken mirth. Harry felt his heart drop into his shoes. Ron was just at the precise point of being pissed enough to start spouting nonsense which he invariably did. The merest sniff of the barmaid’s apron was usually enough to make Ron think he was a stand up comedian. Harry watched as his friend paused for a bit of dramatic tension. “I reckon that the Ferret here has a secret _lover_. He’s got a pudding in the oven! A bat in the cauldron.” Ron chortled with sloppy laughter. “Got himself in the _family_ way.”

Their booth erupted with laughter at Ron’s joke. Even Harry chuckled. 

The idea of elegant, suave Draco being pregnant was just too improbable an image to take even the slightest bit seriously. Harry shook his head, the alcohol in his blood making the joke seem even funnier than it was before. 

“If Draco here is knocked up then it must have been an immaculate conception,” Greg hooted, shoving his beer down on the table so hard that a dribble of it fizzed over the top of the bottle and spread across the wood. “All blondie here ever does is drink tea with his Mama, work at Phoenix and worry about his precious plants growing in the Manor gardens! There hasn’t been a soul around to knock him up!” He shoulder-bumped Draco lightly, amusement shining in his eyes. “Draco here hasn’t been on a date in months!”

All of them laughed at Greg’s teasing. 

All of them except Draco. 

It was immediately obvious to Harry just how distressed Draco had gotten over Greg’s bantering. The blond wizard was practically _vibrating_ with upset – his eyes were dark and his mouth was a thin, angry line – and then he stood up. 

Draco looked around their booth, grey eyes flashing – Harry thought that he was about to speak – but then he didn’t. All he did was bite his lip and push his way past Greg, pausing only to pick up his satchel from the dusty floor. In seconds Draco had pulled his wand from a pocket within and then he was turning on the spot, Apparating away in a sparkle of green magic. 

It took mere moments for Draco to vanish and then Harry was staring, entirely shocked at the spot where his friend had been stood. Harry knew that he could be an oblivious prat on occasion but he couldn’t understand why Draco had flounced away in the manner that he had. 

They’d all been on the receiving end of banter during the evening – Ron had mentioned his own _Most Kissable Wizard_ award on three mortifying occasions – and it wasn’t like Greg was fibbing. Draco made no secret that he lived a quiet existence outside of a small circle of friends. None of his relationships ever seemed to last very long and he’d told Harry on more than one occasion that their work at Phoenix was what gave his life the most significance. 

Harry fumbled in his coat, pulling out his own wand. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Harry said, trying to push out of the booth so that he could Apparate away too. “I’ll bring him back. Daft _bloody_ Slytherin! Malfoy must have misunderstood that we were messing about.” 

Would Draco have gone home, to his Half-Moon Lane apartment or would he have travelled to the Manor? Where should he go first? Harry paused, his indecision slowing him down, and then he felt Parkinson’s hands clutching tight to his forearm. 

Harry turned his face back to her, aghast that she was holding him back. Draco was his friend – one of his _best_ friends – and he was upset, and so Harry had to go after him. It was as complicated and as simple as that. 

“You’re pissed, Harry Potter,” Pansy said, nodding to the wand that was clutched in his fingers. “You Apparate now and the only place that you’ll be going is St bloody Mungos with a splicing injury.” She leant over, taking Harry’s wand from his grasp with her other hand. “Just- just _don’t_ Harry. I know that it’s your thing. Saving the day. Righting wrongs. But leave him. The last thing that Draco needs is you rushing after him with your big hero act. You’ll- well, you’ll just make everything worse, Potter. You won’t mean to, but you will.” 

By now, the rest of the booth were looking at Pansy. The good natured banter of their evening had vanished like sunshine behind a cloud, and Harry could feel the nervous, perplexed tension radiating from the rest of his friends. 

“Make everything worse?” Harry repeated, baffled. He felt some of the impulse to race after Draco start to dissipate and Pansy must have sensed that. The dark-haired witch let go of his arms and leant back in her chair. She looked around the group before peering behind her, as if making sure that there wasn’t anyone eavesdropping. 

“Draco won’t want anyone chasing after him. Not right now,” Pansy said. 

Taking her own wand out of her handbag, she cast a _Muffliato_ charm all around their table. Harry felt the coil of her powerful magic against his skin. He felt the warm buzz of the alcohol vanish as he wondered what the witch was about to tell them that required complex secrecy spells. 

“He doesn’t need your faffy Gryffindor fussiness,” Pansy continued, finding Harry’s eyes with her own. Pansy’s words were said to all of them but Harry was left in no doubt whatsoever that she was speaking to him directly. She hesitated for a moment but then Pansy seemed to come to a decision and she then looked at Ron, her anger audible in every syllable. “Not that it’s really any of your business, Weasley, but you hit the Horntail on the head. Draco _is_ pregnant. He was going to tell you all tonight, but it seems that you beat him to it with your crass jokes. Well done. Bravo.”

Harry’s brain couldn’t really compute what Parkinson had said. He understood each word and how they fit together but together they didn’t make sense. Draco didn’t _look_ pregnant. His friend was still as skinny, and as straight as a wand, and he hadn’t said a single word about his news to Harry. 

For half a moment Harry thought that Pansy and Draco must be having their fun with him; that Draco would emerge from the gents, laughing his posh socks off at prattish Potter’s naivety. 

The iciness on Parkinson’s face put pay to that thought straight away. Harry couldn’t bring himself to care what Pansy thought of him though. His friend was distressed. 

“Then Draco shouldn’t be alone. We should go to him, talk to him,” Harry replied, his voice infused with a sudden rough urgency. He made a grab for his jacket. “He should be with the people who care about him.”

Pansy shook her head. 

“Let him have his space Harry,” she urged. “If you go to him now, all you’ll do is ask a million questions. You’ll make him tell you a thousand things that he’s not ready to say. If you care about him even a little bit then you’ll wait. You’ll let him come to you. _Please_.”

It was the raw desperation in Pansy’s voice that stopped Harry in his tracks. 

Every part of his being wanted to chase after Draco and force everything back into its rightful place. Part of Harry wished he had a Time Turner to turn back the last few minutes and pull this new knowledge out from his head. The urge to rush to Draco’s side was still a hex coursing through his blood and Harry knew that he needed to get away from the Leaky Cauldron to clear up his thinking. 

Harry couldn’t help but feel abominably betrayed and he didn’t understand _why_. 

Draco was pregnant and he hadn’t told him. He hadn’t told him about this big, all-important change in his life. The two wizards saw each other every single day. They shared an office, ran Phoenix together and – Harry had genuinely believed – told each other about every aspect of their lives. Harry pulled on his jacket and stood, muttering swift goodbyes to all his friends. Pansy made Harry vow on his wand that he wouldn’t go rushing over to Half-Moon Lane. 

A million thoughts raced through Harry as he walked though the lamp-lit drizzle of the late June evening. Why had Draco kept his pregnancy hidden from him? And why, exactly, was _he_ taking it so bloody personally? He hadn’t felt like this when Ginny had gotten pregnant by Oliver Wood and he’d been _engaged_ to her, once upon a time. There was so much that Draco had kept hidden from him and it didn’t feel fair. Harry felt foolish. He felt betrayed. 

Jealousy swirled in Harry’s belly as he entered the Floo Station and then another dreadful thought hit his brain. Somebody had sired Draco’s baby and as Harry got into position inside the vast open fireplace he pondered whom they might be. _Merlin_. Could the father be one of their mutual friends? 

Then an even worse idea hit Harry and made his heart lurch. 

Was Draco’s baby Cormac McLaggen’s? Malfoy and the Quidditch player had conducted a brief affair during their Hogwarts Eighth Year and Harry knew the slimy git was currently living in Scotland, playing for the Montrose Magpies. 

Harry grit his teeth at the mere thought of that arse being the baby’s other father. McLaggen was famed for going though wizard lovers like other men went through silk shirts. The smarmy wizard was always featured on the gossip pages of _The Prophet_ with his latest boyfriends. Draco was a quiet, thoughtful person and Harry couldn’t abide the idea of him – and his baby – being kicked to the curb by that _swine_. 

The Floo Network was as unpleasant and as jolting a journey as always. Harry stumbled from his fireplace in to the living room at Grimmauld Place before promptly making for the sideboard. He knew there was a bottle of Tequila in there – Muggle booze George and Angelina had brought him home from their holiday as a joke – and Harry pulled it out by the neck of the bottle. He _Accio’ed_ a glass and slumped down onto the settee with a groan. 

He wanted to get well and truly smashed tonight. That way Harry might at least have the chance of getting some sleep. Otherwise Harry knew that he’d spend the night awake, the image of Draco’s pale, distressed face pasted to the inside of his skull and a million questions ringing in his ears. 

And get drunk Harry certainly did. 

The Tequila was more foul and more noxious than anything that he’d ever brewed in potions class and Harry drank shot after shot of the muck. It burnt his throat and settled in his belly like a poison. It was only as Harry was stumbling into his bedroom, the room swaying treacherously – and his legs wobblier than any Jelly-Legs Curse – that Harry had what he imagined was a brilliant idea. 

Summoning parchment, ink and a quill with a flick of his wand, Harry decided he was going to send Draco a note. That much surely couldn’t hurt, he reasoned to himself bitterly. It wasn’t as if Draco would get it straight away. The blond wizard was probably fast asleep, no doubt entwined under crisp white sheets with his secret boyfriend. 

Merlin, but that vision stung him more than it ought to have done. 

_“Why couldn’t you tell me?”_ Harry wrote, his drunken fingers slipping all over the page. _“I thought that we were close, that we were friends! I had to hear if from Pansy with Ron and all the bloody others! That hurts. It bloody hurts. What’s your secret, Malfoy? Why didn’t you want to tell me?”_

~~

Saturday was a dreadful day, one of the worst that Harry could remember. 

When Harry awoke he was still dressed in the clothes that he’d worn to the Leaky Cauldron, his hair was full of unmanageable knots and he had a headache sent straight from the very depths of hell. The _Tempus_ alarm that he’d set to wake him pounded onto his skull and he groped around on his bedroom table for the hangover curative that he knew he’d left there yesterday, before Draco’s news had thrown his life into disarray. 

Harry sighed with relief the moment that the bitter almond of the potion hit his belly, but then he was instantly beset instantly with a thousand regrets over the whining, petulant letter that he’d sent Draco the previous night.

Swinging his body out of bed, Harry stood and shuffled painfully over to where Hercules – his pet Snowy Owl – sat happily on her perch. She’d flown back in through the window that Harry had left ajar but Draco hadn’t deigned to reply and Harry didn’t blame him. 

There wasn’t anything else for it. Harry had a date with Teddy that had been arranged for weeks. He didn’t want to be a negligent Godfather as well as the abysmal friend that he obviously was. 

Harry made his way to the shower but the scalding water wasn’t nearly enough to wash away the misery that seemed to have wedged itself in his heart. Draco was pregnant. _Pregnant_. His friend had found himself a lover – and made a baby with them – and he’d never even breathed a word about it to Harry. 

There wasn’t anyway around how painful that felt. It felt like somebody had taken a _Diffindo_ to his soul. This wasn’t something that Harry would ever have kept from Draco, had their situations been reversed. 

Stepping out of the shower, Harry reached for the towel and gave his hair a rough dry before looking at himself in the mirror. As usual, he desperately needed to get a trim and in normal circumstances Draco would have been the first to tease him about it, telling him in no uncertain terms that he looked like a wild man. Harry smiled sadly at his refection. Draco hadn’t mentioned his hair – hadn’t in _weeks_ – and Harry supposed that he had bigger and better things on his mind now he was expecting. 

Harry _Accio’d_ a dark-blue Weasley jumper out from inside the washing basket and then he pulled the grey jeans back on that he’d been wearing the night before, a quick _Scougify_ getting rid of any lingering boozy odours. 

At least there was time for coffee before meeting Teddy and Andromeda at the community Quidditch Pitch.

Harry made his way to the kitchen, craving the bitter, acerbic taste of the stuff. The curative had put pay to most of his hangover but he could still feel the ghost of a headache playing at the very edges of his vision. Harry tapped the kettle with the side of his wand and watched it, waiting for it to boil with unseeing eyes. All he could think about was Draco and the events of the previous night played back in his brain like a broken Pensieve. 

It seemed to Harry like only yesterday that Draco and he had shared coffee, sat here in this very same kitchen. It had only been weeks after leaving Hogwarts and the two wizards had been faced with the monolithic question of what to do with the rest of their lives. Harry had known, even then, that he didn’t want to be an Auror. He’d seen enough of battles; seen enough of hexes and of curses and enough of magic used for greed or anger. 

Harry had left Hogwarts an orphan adrift in a world that was far bigger and more intimidating than school had prepared him for. He’d had a clutch of semi-decent NEWTS in his hands and very little real idea of what he wanted to do with his life or how he might ever do anything of meaning, ever again in his life. 

Circe, but he’d _died_ for wizarding Britain. The pinnacle of his life – his greatest achievement – had already been met. He’d vanquished Voldemort and he had saved the world. Nothing could possibly top that. It hadn’t helped Harry that Ron, Hermione and all of his other friends had seemed so secure and happy in the paths that they had chosen. Their lives and relationships had been lain out in front of them, neat and unambiguous, while his future had felt as twisting and ominous as a path through the Forbidden Forest. 

Of all the wizards in all the world, it had been Draco Malfoy that had given Harry back his future. His childhood nemesis had been the one to save him from himself. The two of them had shared quarters in their Eighth Year at Hogwarts – McGonagall had been keen to destroy old House prejudices – and a grudging cordiality had developed between the two of them. 

Wartime experiences had left physical and metaphoric scars on both Draco and he. Together, the two wizards had made their first, halting, shaky steps towards a world where they’d be judged by the content of their characters rather than their surnames. 

To his immense, ridiculous surprise, Harry had been shocked to find that he enjoyed Draco’s company. The two had played Quidditch, listened to the Wireless and had practised duelling together too, spending hour upon hour in each other’s company each day. Harry had enjoyed Draco’s dry sense of humour, his neat and precise ways and how well he’d known himself, even when he was only seventeen. Harry had admired how determined Draco was to make up for lost time and to live his life without shame or further regret. 

Slowly but surely Harry had even begun to understand that Draco had been in his own gilded cage as a young child, brought up on a diet of propaganda and lies. His friend had truly believed that his only destiny was to beget heirs and ensure the future of their pure-blood dynasty. Draco – driven to make amends for his role in the War – had visited Harry at Grimmauld Place not long after the two of them had left had left Hogwarts. The blond haired man had decided to set up a children’s charity using his share of the Malfoy fortune and he had known immediately that he wanted Harry by his side. 

Harry had made coffee and he had listened, fascinated, to Draco’s ideas. 

Phoenix, their children’s charity, had been born the very same day. 

Part of the Draco’s community service had been spent in the company of children who had lost family in the War and he’d come away from it a humbled, changed person, set on making sure that every child in the wizarding world had access to books, toys and support. With Harry beside him, Draco had been sure that could be achieved. Draco had been the financial wizard of their partnership, doing the books and the planning while Harry had been the face that the public could rally behind. Their plans had worked too. 

In eight short years, Phoenix had achieved more that either man could have dared believe. 

The sound of the kettle whistling pulled Harry away from his reminisces and he poured the water over the coffee, making it the Muggle way like he’d done for his Uncle Vernon as a young child. He took a sip and winced at the blistering bitterness of it. It tasted every bit as sour as the taste that Draco’s news had left in his mouth. 

Junior Quidditch League with Teddy had only made Harry feel bittersweet. Normally Harry loved watching his Godson slide and dive through the air, his turquoise hair whipping behind him. Today the sight had only made him feel heartsick. In just three years Teddy would be getting on the Hogwarts Express, leaving home for the first time. He’d come home from breaks of course, but Harry knew that he’d never live there permanently again. Teddy would move on with his life and then he wouldn’t care so much about visiting Harry or impressing his Godfather with his every swoop and glide. 

Harry let his gaze drift across to the others stood in little groups around him, their eyes fixed on their children as they hovered, just out of reach. 

Draco would have that bond with his baby, Harry supposed. He’d look up there, into the sky and he’d see a small piece of himself flying and diving thought the sky. The bond between the pair of them would be invisible but it’d be more binding than any _Incarcerous_. Harry didn’t expect that his and Draco’s friendship would stay the same after the baby arrived. Whomever the baby might be, Harry knew they’d come first. They’d be the star at the centre of Draco’s world. 

And that was okay. That was the nature of things. Harry knew he’d have to accept that. Harry was living proof that a parent’s love for their child was the most powerful magic that there was in the universe. 

Sunday had been spent in the company of Ron and Hermione, enjoying the cacophony and noise of The Burrow. Harry knew that he’d been uncharacteristically quiet but, thank Merlin, his best-mates hadn’t felt the need to push him for answers. Molly had served dinner and Harry had listened to the flow of conversation drifting around him – arguments over which Beater was best in the League, gossip about the different Diagon traders and the latest nonsense from the Ministry – without giving venturing an opinion or even saying a word.

Sat at the table, all Harry had been able to think about was the owl message that he’d sent to Draco. His friend hadn’t replied and twice Harry had nearly asked Hermione why she thought Malfoy had kept this a secret from them all. He trusted Hermione’s opinion more than anyone else’s. The words had been on the tip of his tongue but Harry had swallowed the question though, not sure that he was ready to hear his best-mate's blunt honesty.

~~ 

Monday rolled around more quickly than a curse and Harry found himself at the offices of Phoenix far earlier than he ought to have been. 

He’d lain in his bed since the early hours, watching the white stripes of dawn pattern his ceiling, and had known full well that he wasn’t getting back to sleep. He’d gotten up and showered before the _Tempus_ alarm had rang. 

As it turned out, Harry wasn’t the only person to arrive early to work. Striding through the Floo and into his office, Harry noticed that Draco’s umbrella and satchel were hung on the coat stand. That was unusual behaviour from Draco. Perhaps his friend was worried too? Harry felt his heart flutter in his chest. He knew he’d have to apologise for that atrocious owl message, but at least now he’d get some answers. What could be so bad that Draco hadn’t told any of them he was expecting? 

Draco was waiting for him in the office that the two of them shared but, to Harry’s surprise, he soon saw that his friend wasn’t sat there alone. 

Pansy Parkinson was sat beside him, the pair of them sat in on the posh, overstuffed chairs that Draco and he had chosen together. She was comforting Draco, running her fingers in small circles across his back as the two of them sat waiting. Their heads were huddled next to one another's, Draco white-blond hair a striking contrast to Pansy’s sleek black bob and Harry didn’t like the sight at all. He felt a growl of apprehension in his belly. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Pansy, or trust her – Harry had grown to appreciate her clever humour in the years since Hogwarts and her unwavering love for Draco– but he just couldn’t understand why she was sat there. Why did Draco need a minder? Surely what needed to be said between them wasn’t _so_ dreadful that Draco couldn’t face him on his own? 

All of a sudden Harry couldn’t wait even another moment to talk to his friend. 

Harry found himself moving forward, his legs carrying him as if they were working independently of his brain. He strode into his office, surprising Pansy and Draco both as he opened the door with a forceful push. 

Almost as soon as Harry sat down it was obvious to him that his Draco was truly upset. His friend looked like he’d been crying for most of the morning, if not the whole of the weekend. Draco’s skin was pale, and his eyes were here swollen and red-rimmed. 

Every part of Harry wanted to reach out, wanted to draw Draco into his arms and tell him that whatever this was, they could find a way forward. Nothing was so bad that it was irreversible. Harry desperately wanted to make Draco smile once again. Harry wanted to speak, wanted to pour out every thought in his head, but the words stuck in his throat like a bezoar; unwieldy and painful. 

In the end, it was Pansy that spoke first. The witch’s voice was quiet, but it was steely. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Pansy said, her brown eyes meeting Harry’s. “First, an apology. Neither Weasley, you or any of the others could have guessed that what you said on Friday would hit so close to the bone. I’m sorry that I chastised you all like I did… I can get very defensive of my friends.” She paused and then looked across at Draco. Harry thought there was some unspoken message between the two Slytherins because she nodded. “I’m only here today because Draco asked me to come. He wanted some moral support.”

Harry could barely believe what he was hearing. He looked over at Draco, speechless. He’d thought they were friends. He’d thought they could tell each other everything. The blond wizard shifted in his chair and Harry thought, for the very first time that perhaps he _did_ look different. There was a new softness to Draco’s jaw and his hair, though tied back in a black stretchy band, looked touchable and silky. 

“Harry,” Draco began, his voice halting in the quiet of the room. “Everything that Pansy told you on Friday was the truth. I _am_ pregnant. Eleven weeks, nearly twelve… And I know that this must come as a surprise but I assure you that I won’t be leaving our finances in bad hands. Melissa, my assistant is excellent and-”

“I don’t care about Melissa,” Harry cut in, his words sounding far sharper than he’d meant them to. “And I don’t care about Phoenix, Draco! I care about _you_.” Harry stopped dead, the words that he’d just spoken hanging in the air between them, emotive and terribly loud. He shook his head, trying to harness the negative energy that he knew must be radiating from him in waves. Draco was like a spooked horse. One mistaken word and Harry knew that he’d run from him once more and Harry couldn’t bear that to happen. Harry spoke again, this time a little more calmly. “Everybody here does, Draco! Phoenix is your vision. Your _baby_.” Harry flushed at his poor choice of word and so did Draco. “We all care about you. What is it that you need?”

Draco didn’t reply immediately. Some of the pink faded from his cheeks and he made a small and suspiciously wet cough before he spoke once again. 

The sight of him made Harry’s heart skip a beat. Draco looked diminished; suddenly vulnerable in a way that he’d never seen him look before, even when they’d been back at Hogwarts, the War still a fresh memory in the minds of many. 

“There’s nothing that I need right now,” Draco said, pushing the part of a broken quill across the wood of the desk with a ragged fingernail. Harry could see that he was clearly upset but he was all business in his answer. “All I ask is that I’m not the subject of gossip,” Draco explained. “I’ll need my St Mungos appointments off but otherwise I'm planning on completing my normal workload until the baby is born. Then I’d like an additional six months off, which of course I’ll take unpaid.”

“Of course,” Harry said, nodding furiously and feeling rather stupid. “Anything that you want. You can have as much time – and as many appointments – as you need. We all love you here.” Harry couldn't why Draco was so circumspect. It shouldn’t be like this. Draco was _pregnant_. The wizard should have been celebrating rather than looking like his heart had been shattered into a million pieces. “And you must know that no-one here would ever gossip about you.” 

At Harry’s final sentence, Draco’s face dropped. 

Already pale, the colour blanched out of his face like he’d been hit with a hex. His shoulders sagged and the silence dragged on interminably, Draco’s eyes everywhere but in Harry’s direction. 

Gossip, Harry decided, must be the cause of Draco’s worries. It was the very real fear of being talked about – _laughed_ about – that was causing his friend’s distress. Harry, knowing the other wizard was fiercely private, was suddenly hit with a wave of jealousy so powerful that he felt like Fiendfyre had scalded his very soul. 

The other father must be famous, like Harry had already suspected. Perhaps they were married too. The thought of Draco and his baby being some wizard’s dirty secret made Harry incandescent with rage. Harry felt a wave of horrible, impotent anger directed at the faceless man who had rejected his friend like a dinted cauldron and he felt his hand tighten into a fist against his knee. 

Draco was _more_ than his Dark Mark and the mistakes that he hadn’t had any choice over when he was naught but a child. He – as well as the baby he was carrying – deserved to be the sun, moon and stars in somebody’s life. A baby was magic and shouldn’t ever be a source of shame. 

Harry looked over at Pansy. The witch’s mouth was set in a hard, flat line and Harry wondered just how much she already knew. Probably everything. At some point during the conversation Pansy had taken Draco’s hand in her own and had knotted their fingers together. Harry could see the tremendous effort that Draco was making not to cry. His knuckles were white and there was a tremble to his slight figure that Harry was sure hadn’t ever been there before. 

“You need to tell him,” Pansy murmured to Draco, just loud enough that Harry could hear her. “Exactly like we said this morning. Harry is a good person,” she said. “You can trust him.”

Harry stiffened at Pansy’s mention of his name. He’d been sat there, silent, for far too long already. Harry’d always worn his feelings on his sleeve and he didn’t know how many of his emotions had been broadcast all over his face for the two other wix to see. “Tell me,” Harry urged. “Please Draco. Whatever it is we’ll work it out. Surely it can’t be as bad as all that?”

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath. He raised his eyes from the table and bore them into Harry. They were dark and full of resolve. 

“There’s no other Father,” Draco said after only a heartbeat had passed. He cupped his hand around the side of his still-flat middle, taking a long breath, and Harry couldn't help but stare. He couldn’t draw his eyes away from his friend. “I’m not betrothed to be bonded… I don’t have a beau. My baby – when they arrive – will be mine alone to raise.” Some of the firmness left Draco’s face as he spoke and his voice wobbled as he finished his sentence. “And I’m sorry if that’s going to be a problem for Phoenix. For our reputation and yours by association. We’ve worked so hard to get where we have.”

Harry couldn’t accept the words that were leaving Draco’s mouth. 

He didn’t for a single minute think that Draco’s baby would have any bearing on their donations or the good works that Phoenix had planned for completion within the next few months. The wizarding world had gotten far more open and accepting that Draco’s pure-blood upbringing would ever admit. All Harry cared about was the anxiety that rippled through Draco’s words and how dubious and uncertain he seemed about the future. He should be over the moon but instead Draco – his funny, kind-hearted friend – was pregnant and he was _terrified._

Draco, who’d always been there for Harry ever since they’d left Hogwarts. 

Draco, who had listened – and never once judged – when he’d made the painful decision to leave Ginny. Draco had been there, beside him, through the Howlers, the vile _Prophet_ front covers and the awful, months-long cold war that Ron and he had suffered through as a result. 

Draco, who had taken Harry to his first gay club and encouraged him every time men he dated turned out to be Saviour-worshipping idiots. Draco, whose smile Harry thought about when he woke up each and every morning. 

Draco, for whom it was Harry’s daily mission to make laugh. 

Building up Phoenix together and sharing an office with Draco hadn’t ever even felt like work. The past eight years had been nothing but a pleasure. 

And that was when everything clicked into place. Harry _loved_ him. 

Harry was in love with Draco. He loved how well they knew each other. How their plans were always in tune with one another's. He loved the way that Draco could guess what Harry wanted from any restaurant menu. He loved the way that Draco knew all his anecdotes but never minded him repeating them. Harry loved how Draco could make his tea exactly the way that he enjoyed it. He loved the late-night owls they shared and their in-jokes and the way that their lives had fastened, irretrievably, together. 

Harry was in love with Draco and he didn’t quite know how long he’d felt like that, only that he was. There’d only _ever_ been Draco. Even when the two of them had been schoolboys, there hadn’t been another soul that had been able to get under his skin the way that Draco had. 

And Merlin, Harry was _jealous_. 

Not of the baby. _Never_ the baby. They were a part of Draco – part of his blood and his body – and Harry felt a furious love for them race through his veins. 

Harry was jealous of the unknown, faceless intruder that had made love to Draco, lying to him with his mouth and his body before he had left Draco forever. Fury made the edges of Harry’s vision blur and his fingers inched with the painful demand to curse and hex. How _dare_ they have slept with Draco – and left him with a baby – and then thrown him away like a broken broomstick? The idea was grotesque. 

This was absolutely the worst moment in the world for Harry to have his revelation. 

“Nobody will care,” Harry managed after a few seconds had passed. His voice was thick with emotion. He cleared his throat. “The world is more open-minded than you believe Draco. Anybody who’d be shocked at the idea of a single father isn’t the sort of wix that Phoenix wants or needs the support of.”

Draco gave Harry a thin smile at his reply. “Thank you,” Draco said, his eyes flicking to Pansy’s and then back to Harry’s. “Like I said before, I’ll keep on working until the baby arrives. They’re due on the fourth of January. I’ve got all the systems in place for Melissa to take over and she’s said that she’ll owl over the books once a week so that I can keep on top of everything. I’ll do my level best to make sure that Phoenix doesn’t suffer.”

Harry was aghast at Draco’s answer. The man should be joyful and excited, full of gossip and plans. Instead he was clinical. Draco was acting like all Harry cared about was their balance sheet and not their friendship. Harry could feel the last tendrils of his patience begin to ebb him and he addressed Pansy. 

“Could you give us a moment?” Harry asked, knowing that his voice sounded surly but not sure how to control it. “If you would?”

There was a small nod between Draco and Pansy and a few whispered words that Harry couldn't hear. Then she stood and gave Harry an imperious glare. 

“Don’t you _dare_ say anything hurtful,” she warned Harry, “otherwise you’ll feel the sharp end of my wand!” Pansy picked up the handle of her handbag and then leant down to give Draco a kiss on his cheek. “Firecall me later,” she said, lightly squeezing Draco on the shoulder. “Doesn’t matter how late.”

With that, Pansy Disapparated, turning and vanishing in a sparkle of green magic. Harry watched her go, waiting until the very last flicker had melted away before he spoke again. 

Harry turned his eyes to Draco. The other wizard suddenly looked exhausted. He slouched in the chair and Harry wondered whether he was trying to make himself as small as he possibly could.

“There shouldn’t be much in the way of disturbance,” Draco said, more to himself than to Harry. “A few appointments here and there. I’m sure that neither yourself or the rest of Phoenix will notice.”

That was it for Harry. He’d had enough of Draco’s odd, self-diminishing behaviour and he couldn't listen to it for a moment longer. 

“Draco,” he said, getting out of his chair and coming to kneel in front of his friend. “Why are you being like this? I-I… I don’t understand. You’re acting like all we ever were was colleagues.” He shook his head. “But I thought we were friends, Draco. I _want_ to notice. This baby – _you!_ – just, _please_. Tell me what’s really going on.”

Harry knew that he was overstepping the line. Draco hadn’t given any indication that he wanted to talk and Harry knew that he had a tendency to rush, feet first into situations with all the elegance of a Hippogriff. He didn’t care. Harry had to know what was going on with the wizard that – it turned out – he’d loved for as long as he could remember. 

He reached out, squeezing Draco’s forearm harder than he had planned to. Neither wizard was a touchy-feely person at the best of times but it felt important to Harry that his friend was anchored. When Draco shuddered at his touch, Harry felt deplorable. “Tell me what’s really going on,” Harry repeated, shocked to hear the quiver in his own voice. “Please, Draco. Just let me be there for you.”

With that, Draco wrenched his arm out of Harry’s grasp. His eyes were flashing with anger. He stared at Harry like he was a particularly despicable worm. 

“You really want to save me, don’t you?” Draco scoffed. “Harry Potter. Saviour of the wizarding world. It must _kill_ you that there’s not a single thing that you can do to dive and save the day.” Draco wrapped his arms around himself, taking deep, shuddering breaths. When he spoke again his voice had softened. “I’ve _told_ you everything that I need! I’m pregnant! I need leave and I need to go to my medical appointments. That’s everything that you can give me, Harry. Everything I can ask for. Other than that my baby isn’t any of your business.”

Harry wasn’t having that, not at all. 

“You know that’s rubbish,” Harry cried in reply, his finally patience at an end. “I thought we were past all this childhood antagonism! You’ve met somebody and you’ve gotten pregnant and now you won’t even talk about it! I thought we were more than this but it seems that we’re not. I’m supposed to be your friend. It doesn’t matter who the other father is. Not to _me_. Let me look after you, Draco. That’s all I ask.”

Some part of his reply must have hit home, for Draco slumped back in his chair, all of the fight leaving him. 

Tears welled in his eyes before they ran down his flushed cheeks. His body radiated with wretchedness and a raw tiredness. 

Even though Harry was far from believing that it’d be welcome, he insinuated himself into Draco’s space before pulling the wizard into his arms. Soon the two of them were wrapped in a hug. Harry didn’t speak, not wanting to frighten Draco away. As the minutes passed he felt the stiffness in the other wizard’s body slowly start to dispel. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Draco eventually whispered. His words were small and quiet, and Harry felt them more that he heard them. He didn’t reply. Questions wouldn’t help and Harry had no idea of the right ones to ask. 

Harry was lost, adrift in the miasma of feelings he held for the man beside him. It seemed to Harry that once Draco began to speak he couldn’t rein himself in. His words were halting at first but they soon began to flow between Draco’s deep unsteady breathing and the tears that were wetting Harry’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. It just- It all just happened so _fast_. I want my baby. I already love them so much but I’m so bloody _scared_.” Draco made a small choked noise that Harry though could have been a sob or a laugh. “I’m so terrified. I’m ridiculous and hormonal and frightened. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to act! I’m woefully ill-prepared and I’m trying to be brave when I’m not and I never have been.”

Harry held Draco as tightly as he could. He was shocked by how skinny Draco was in the embrace of his arms. His friend was skinny and angular, all sharp edges and hard lines. 

“None of that matters,” Harry said. “You’re not alone. You never were, Draco. Not you and not your baby. Everything that I've got to give is yours. Whatever you both need.”

There wasn’t anything else for Harry to say and Draco seemed to accept his words. Harry would have liked to hold Draco in his arms for hours but that would have been entirely awkward. Hugging was out of character for both of them. 

Eventually Harry pulled away. He was pleased to see that Draco’s tears had dried and that there was a new colour in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. His friend looked happier than he had all morning. 

“You’ll be a good Dad,” Harry said, wanting his friend to know he believed in him. “They don’t need another parent. You’ll love them fiercely enough that it won’t matter a Sickle.”

Even as he says them, the words make Harry’s stomach twinge with sadness. Draco _would_ be a good Dad. He’d love ferociously, with his whole heart. Draco wouldn’t make the same mistakes that Lucius had made. Nobody in the world would come before them. 

That child would be Draco’s whole world and Harry knew that he’d be staring on from the sidelines, wishing only that he could share in the happiness. Somebody else had gotten in first though. Harry had realised his feelings for Draco just three short months too late. 

Draco stood up. “I’ll do my best,” he said, looking down at where Harry still crouched on the floor. Some unspoken emotion seemed to flicker over Draco’s face before he spoke again. “I’m glad we talked,” he continued. “Said everything that we needed to.”

Harry nodded. “We have,” he answered shortly. “We’re good.”

Harry didn’t want to get up from the floor. He felt light-headed, dizzy from the cascade of rapidly-shifting emotions that he’d felt. He’d gone from confused to angry, and then from jealousy to sadness. He couldn’t saddle Draco with his newly-realised feelings, not now. Harry knew that he wouldn’t say a word. He simply couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair. Draco was defenceless and newly pregnant by somebody else. He needed love, care and support. The very last thing Draco needed was Harry’s proclamations of undying devotion.

“We’ll talk soon then,” Draco said. He gave Harry a half-smile as he opened the door. 

Harry watched his friend leave, knowing that Draco had taken a piece of his heart away with him.


	2. Chapter 2

July.

It was a week and half later and Harry was slowly getting used to the new reality that was his life. 

He was in love with Draco. That much was patently obvious – he got the full Wrackspurts-in-the-belly experience every time he glanced at his friend in the office – but the other wizard was very quiet and reserved around him. 

Their conversation had dwindled to charity related matters and Draco hadn’t one mentioned his baby or any plans that he might have for the future. Usually the two wizards talked about everything under the sun, so this new development felt very disconcerting. Harry knew his emotional range wasn’t amazing and he hadn’t known how to initiate the conversation.

Twice, though, he had gotten close. First, Harry had picked up a copy of the Diagon WizKids Emporium catalogue on the way to work. He’d been intending to show it to Draco and offer to accompany the other wizard there on his dinner hour. Harry hadn’t quite dared though. There’d been something about the set of Draco’s shoulders that had made Harry push the book to the back of his desk drawer. 

He’d had another bright idea the next day. Harry – idly looking through a wizard pregnancy book in Flourish and Blotts – had discovered that Draco’s baby was currently the size of a peach. On a whim Harry had brought one from the food emporium outside of Phoenix's offices. He’d intended to give it to his friend when he came into work later on that morning. 

In the end Harry hadn’t done so. Sat on his desk, the fruit had looked so tangible and so _real_. Truth be told, Harry hadn’t been entirely sure that the sight of it wouldn’t upset Draco more than it would please him. In the end, Harry had simply thrown the peach away.

Harry knew that he couldn’t carry on as he was forever. 

He was surviving on a diet of Muggle pizza and beer, and spending most of the night worrying about Draco while pretending to watch the television. Harry’s nights were long and sleep-deprived. Whenever he did fall asleep, Harry dreamt of the anonymous wizard that had left Draco pregnant and alone. He scoured the gossip pages of _The Prophet_ , looking for rumours about Cormac McLaggen visiting St Mungos, but found nothing to either confirm or deny his suspicions. 

There was nothing for it. Harry knew that he needed to talk to somebody or he thought that he’d go stark raving bonkers. There were only two people in his life whom he’d never been able to keep a secret from. 

Ron had just returned from an Auror mission abroad so Harry owled him, offering to treat Hermione and he to dinner at Grimmauld Place. It was fantastic to see Ron and Hermione again and Harry huffed out a sigh of relief as he watched his two best-friend climb out of the fireplace.

Hermione was holding a home-made cheesecake as well as a bottle of Elf-made wine and, with a blink of wandless magic she levitated them both though to his kitchen. It felt like the three of them hadn’t had a proper conversation in an age, but as soon as they were together it was like no time at all had passed. 

The three of them were soon settled down at the table, wine glasses in hand. 

Hermione had been in post at the Minister’s Office for just under a week and she was bubbly with gossip and excitement about the potential of her new role. For all that ‘Mione had joked at the Leaky about the job only being the taking of Wizengamot notes and the setting of doubling charms, Harry didn’t doubt that it’d be an important stepping stone for his friend’s career. He had no doubt whatsoever that the wizarding world would be seeing reforms from Minister for Magic Hermione Weasley-Granger before the decade was out. 

Ron took over the discussion once Harry had brought out the appetisers. The Auror office had been working hard to break down a dragon-egg smuggling ring and Ron was pretty sure that they were closing in on the gang’s leader, saying that he thought he’d have them locked in an Azkaban cell within weeks. Harry listened, fascinated by his best-mate’s tales of undercover spells, Polyjuiced features and fast-paced duels. It seemed fantastical that he’d ever planned to make this his own career. It was the life that another Harry, who’d made all different choices might have had. 

Conversation ebbed and flowed between the three of them, easy and light and it seemed like only minutes before Kreacher was beside them, collecting up their empty plates and whisking them away with a click of his fingers. 

Harry summoned the Elf wine from the side table and was just pouring them all a couple of inches when Ron finally broached the subject of Draco’s pregnancy.

Harry breathed a secret sigh of relief. He was so glad he hadn’t been the one to bring it up. He’d feared that something in his tone, or his manner, might have given him away. Hermione wasn’t a Legilimens but then she hadn’t ever needed to be. Even when they were small she’d always been able to read him as easily as any spell-book. 

“Spill the cauldron then,” Ron urged, sitting forwards in the chair, his wine glass held in the tips of his fingers. “You work with Malfoy. Spend all you days holed in that tiny office with him. What’s the story there then? You could have knocked me down with a quill feather when he vanished the other night. Pregnant, eh? I wouldn’t have expected it of Draco. It’s always the quiet ones.”

Harry took a sip of his own wine, not quite sure how to answer Ron. 

“There’s not much more to tell,” Harry answered after a moment had passed. He put the glass of wine down and played with a loose thread on his cuff. “It’s like Pans said last Friday. He’s pregnant. He’s having the baby. That’s about as much as I know.” He reached over and took another swallow of his wine. It tasted far too good. He was torn. He wanted to tell his friends everything – get their advice and hear their opinions – but Draco’s words rang in his ears. His friend didn’t want to be the subject of gossip. “And that’s about as much -”

“But who is the other Father?” Ron interrupted, cutting Harry off mid-flow. “That’s what none of us can work out. Malfoy hasn’t had a boyfriend since that awful American fellow. What was it, ‘Mione? I want to say Frank, or Freddy -”

“It was _Francis_ ,” Harry cut in, wrinkling his nose in distaste, “but no. It’s not him. Least, I don’t think so. He left England to go back to Washington and MACUSA. I don’t think he’s ever come back. He left in December and Draco’s baby is due on the fourth of January.” Harry paused, hesitant to say anything else. He'd probably already said too much so he decided to carry on. Harry knew that he could trust Ron and Hermione with his life. “So that means he must have gotten with the father sometime at the end of March.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Ron replied, his eyes flicking over to his girlfriend's own. “Greg was right about Malfoy. All he ever does is work, see his precious Mummy and worry about his greenhouse. I mean, yes, it _could_ have been some random wizard that he met in a nightclub but that just doesn't seem like his style. He worries too much about Phoenix’s reputation to risk the publicity that comes with negative _Prophet_ headlines.”

Harry decided to confide in his friends. 

“Whomever they are, they haven't stuck around,” Harry admitted. “Whatever you do, keep this under your broomsticks but Draco said that this baby will be his alone to raise. He isn’t courting anyone and he isn’t engaged to be bonded. He’s going to be a single father.”

The three of them were quiet for a moment, letting Harry’s news sink in. Hermione was next to speak. 

“You have to feel worried for him,” Hermione said, furrowing her brow. “For a person with Draco’s pure-blood upbringing having a baby without being bonded first is a source of great stigma. I mean, I’m sure that Narcissa will still love the baby but they’ll be many amongst the Malfoy family’s old set that won’t even acknowledge the baby exists, let alone offer any him kind of support.” 

Harry’s fingers tightened in the stem of his glass. He hadn’t thought about Draco’s background before. He wanted, urgently, to owl his friend and offer his home, his hand or anything that Draco might deign to accept. Draco’s baby was entirely innocent, but they’d already been rejected by their other father. That they might be a pariah simply because of the circumstances of their birth felt entirely vile. He didn’t know if he was blushing, or if he was grimacing: both were a distinct possibility. All Harry knew was that Hermione had continued speaking. 

“I have to admit, I did half-wonder if the baby was yours, Harry.”

Harry sputtered, choking on the wine in his throat. Hermione was such a tricky, clever person and her reputation as the brightest witch of her age was well deserved. She’d always been able to see deep into his heart, knowing him far better that he really knew himself. Harry felt a deep pang of sadness low in his belly. He wished, desperately, that he was that baby’s other father. He would have loved them, and loved Draco, with everything that he had. 

“Draco wouldn’t sleep with a scarecrow like me,” Harry joked, trying to defuse the sudden awkwardness. “We’re just friends is all. Sorry to burst your bubble but there’s nothing more to it that that. He didn’t even bother to tell me separately.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Ron said, sitting forward and cuffing Harry lightly on the arm. “I mean, I could see ‘Mione’s argument. You and Draco, that is? It _could_ happen. You get on like Fiendfyre. You never leave each other’s side and neither of you seem to be able to make other relationships work for more than a matter of months. There’s always been something between the pair of you. Even at Hogwarts you were both _obsessed_ -”

Hermione gave Ron a sharp poke in the ribs. 

“But then,” ‘Mione interrupted, looking intently at Harry, “I realised that the baby _couldn’t_ be yours. Family is too important to you. Even if it’d been a one-time fling with Draco, you’d still have been there for him and the baby. You’d have been overjoyed, shouting your happiness from the rooftops. There wouldn’t have been any of this cloak and dagger nonsense -”

Hermione was interrupted by Kreacher’s sudden appearance. The old House Elf had arrived with the main course hovering before him. It was Chinese – Ron’s favourite – and within a few minutes the three wix had full plates and loaded forks. The conversation turned soon as well, to the Quidditch game late that week, the new potion emporium on Knockturn Alley and tittle-tattle from the office of Muggle/Magic Relations. 

Draco, his baby and the wizard at the centre of the mystery weren’t mentioned again though they never left Harry’s mind for a moment.


	3. Chapter 3

August.

August, for Harry, always meant visiting the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary with Teddy and Andromeda for a long weekend. It was a family tradition that stretched back to when Teddy was tiny and it remained one of Harry’s favourite days of the year. 

The three of them would set off at the break of dawn from Andi’s cottage in the Cotswolds and they’d walk over dew-damp grass until they discovered the harmless-looking Portkey that would fling them abroad. 

Charlie would meet them on arrival and then the four of them would take an unhurried walk around the various enclosures, meeting the silver-scaled new inhabitants and greeting the dragons that had lived there for years. Once, a couple of years before, Harry had even been lucky enough to watch a Norwegian Ridgeback hatching from an egg. It was a brilliant memory and he hoped that one day they’d see a repeat performance. 

Plus, if he were being scrupulously honest, Harry would also have had to admit this was one year where he was entirely happy to get a break from Phoenix and magical London for a couple of days. 

Harry had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t bring it up the subject of Draco’s baby unless the other wizard initiated it. It wasn’t that Draco was keeping the baby a secret as such, but he wasn’t broadcasting it to the world either, and Harry couldn't help but think that was a pity. The strong emotions that Harry was experiencing as a result of Draco’s pregnancy were wearing him down.

When Louisa, their Receptionist, had gotten pregnant the year before the whole of Phoenix had been aflutter with excitement. Everybody had celebrated the joyful news. They’d pinned the magi-scan picture to the noticeboard in the staffroom and then canopied her desk with charmed, multi-coloured balloons from Wheezes. Harry had brought baby clothes covered in tiny Snitches from WizKids and they’d given her a big baby shower before she’d finally left to have her baby. 

Draco though? His friend wanted the opposite. He seemed determined to skulk about Phoenix, not talking about the baby and avoiding drawing attention to himself whenever he could. Draco furrowed his brow and quickly changing the subject whenever anyone attempted to bring up the subject of his baby in conversation. It was disconcerting and left Harry feeling sad. When he considered that Draco had told Harry he _wanted_ his baby, Harry thought was going about the situation in a very odd manner. 

For instance, Harry had only found out the dates of Draco’s antenatal appointments by examining their workplace diary. There’d been a charmed red mark next to Draco’s name and the message _‘OUT OF OFFICE – HOSPITAL’_ written there too. Harry hadn’t been snooping – that message could have been read by anybody – but he’d snapped the book shut in record time, the heat flooding his cheeks as he shoved it back into its place on the shelf. 

Harry hadn’t been able to do any work for the rest of the day. He’d Flooed home as quick as he could, not making eye contact with anyone as he’d hurriedly pulled on his coat. The diary’s blunt, simple message had burnt itself into Harry’s consciousness. 

Harry had _told_ Draco that he wasn’t alone and that everything he had to offer was his, so why hadn’t his friend even mentioned his appointments? Harry had pictured Pansy or Narcissa supporting Draco, holding his hand and looking at the baby scans together and he’d felt nearly frantic with jealousy. Harry wanted to be the one to offer love, encouragement and care but apparently he was surplus to requirements. The baby was a part of Draco’s life that Harry hadn’t a place in. 

Life at Phoenix had lost much of its sparkle. Harry did his utmost to treat Draco exactly the same as he always had, but their every interaction felt forced and fake. There were a million unspent words catching at the back of his throat, each of them destined to break his heart. All Harry really wanted to do was tell Draco how much he loved him, yet he knew that he simply couldn’t. 

Harry sighed and tried to force himself back to the moment. He’d come away from London to take a break, not to dwell and daydream about things that he couldn’t change. 

Making a concerted effort, Harry pushed Draco to the back of his mind and began to listen properly to his friend. Charlie was walking beside him, the tall, auburn-haired Weasley gesticulating in excitement about the Sanctuary’s latest acquisition.

“Vessa here is a Ukrainian Ironbelly,” Charlie said, pausing in front of her enclosure. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

Harry felt an uncontrollable shiver of fear at the sight of the scaly girl within. He trusted Charlie’s magicked wards completely but Vessa was frighteningly large and one of the most impressive dragons that Harry had ever seen in his life. Her skin was metallic grey and deep red eyes stared out at them, wary and ready to fight. Her long talons were as long and as sharp as swords and her wingspan was vast. She had to be several feet wider than the dragon that Ron, Hermione and he had freed from Gringotts. 

Harry turned to face Charlie. “I’m not sure about beautiful,” Harry replied, snaking an arm around Teddy’s shoulders. His Godson had taken a wary step backwards and Harry didn’t blame him a bit. “I can think of other words to describe her. Terrifying, perhaps! Gigantic! _Dangerous_.”

“If she’s dangerous then she’s been made like that by us,” Charlie disagreed, looking back at Vessa with a frown. “We rescued her from Russian traffickers.” He shook his head. “They’d had her – and _exploited_ her – from the very moment that she hatched. The brutes took away all of her children the day they were born and kept her locked up in a filthy cage. I don’t know if Vessa will ever get over it all, not really.”

Andromeda looked stricken at Vessa’s story. The four of them lapsed into silence as they continued along the path. They stopped occasionally, looking at the different Fireballs, Longhorns and Welsh Greens that lived at the Sanctuary too but Harry could see that Andi had been left distressed by Charlie’s tale. Even after all the years that had passed Harry knew any tale of child loss brought up painful memories. 

Harry decided that it was time to take a break. They’d been on the go since early that morning and the excitement of the day starting to catch up with them. Harry guided them to a patch of grass and set up their picnic with a swirl of his wand. With a tap, the flask of tea that he’d prepared before they’d left that morning returned to the perfect temperature. Pouring out the first cup, Harry handed it to Andromeda who sipped it appreciatively. 

After a few minutes had passed some colour returned to her cheeks. Teddy drank from a bottle of fizzy Pumpkin Juice and ate a Chocolate Frog while the three adults reacquainted each other with their lives. 

Charlie, of course, was married to the Sanctuary and to the dragons within, telling Harry at great length about a grant that the Ministry had given them to research the mating rituals of Norwegian Ridgebacks. Andromeda was talkative too. Harry let his mind wander as the witch described the various balls and soirées that she had attended in recent months. It was only when Andi mentioned Draco that Harry’s full attention snapped back to the conversation. 

He listened intently, trying to work out what he had missed while he’d been daydreaming. 

“- and Narcissa is _enraptured_ , naturally,” Andromeda continued, re-heating her tea with a tap of her wand. “The baby will be her first Grandchild and she doesn’t care about pure-blood notions of propriety. She’s already made plans for a grand Christening but, of course, you know how Draco can get! He can be as taciturn as his father when it suits him.” Andi smiled, warming to her subject as she spoke. “But Cissa wants the very best for that baby. Even back in _February_ she was bragging to me about the Healer that Draco had chosen to look after him. Apparently the chap’s name is Blatherwick. Narcissa claims he’s the finest wizard paternity Healer in England and-”

Harry’s eyebrows shot at with Andromeda’s comment. She couldn’t be correct. Not February. That date wasn’t possible. Then Harry found himself speaking aloud before he’d even thought whether it was a good idea. 

“You can’t be right,” Harry exclaimed, cutting into Andromeda’s speech impolitely and rather loudly. Her eyes, as well as Teddy’s and Charlie’s, swung in his direction. “Narcissa _can’t_ have said that in February,” Harry repeated. He swallowed, his cheeks beginning to glow with embarrassment. “Draco is only five months gone so he couldn’t have been pregnant then. He wouldn’t have needed a Healer. Not as early as February.”

Andromeda made a small huff of annoyance. She hadn’t ever been a witch that enjoyed being contradicted. Despite her marriage to Ted, Black family blood still coursed through her veins. “I assure you that it _was_ February, Harry! I _know_ because it wasn’t long after the Valentine’s Cake Sale at Teddy’s school and I commented to Cissa that Draco ought to consider Green Toadstool School for _his_ child. Their places do go awfully fast.”

Harry was dumbfounded. His body felt a little like he had been _Stupefied_ and he was glad that Andromeda didn’t seem to require a reply. He couldn't help but worry that his face betrayed his shock. 

Draco had been meeting with paternity Healers back in February? He’d been _trying_ to have a baby? Instructing the best Healers? That didn’t fit with the narrative that Harry had built up in his brain at all. Had he been planning to have a family with somebody who’d left him in the lurch to raise their child alone? Even though he didn’t know the actual circumstances, Harry felt devastated by the tale that he had crafted in his head. No wonder his friend emitted such misery. His heart much have been shattered when his lover left him. 

The rest of the trip to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary passed Harry by in a blur; Draco’s sad grey eyes haunting his every waking moment and all of his dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

September. 

_“Harry, I know that we’ve never been close but I was wondering if I might talk to you? I usually eat at Asti in Soho on a Saturday morning. Perhaps I could take you out for breakfast?”_

Everything about Asti was upper-class and expensive, from the white-suited waiters to the thick creamy card of the menu. Harry, wearing an old Weasley jumper with fraying cuffs and scruffy jeans was woefully underdressed but he simply wasn’t bothered about the impression that he made. He was here for one reason, and one reason only: Draco. 

Harry had awoken early to three owl messages dropped down his chimney and had been both astonished and confused to discover that each one had come from Blaise Zabini.

He’d read, and reread the messages, sour panic spreading through his belly. What did the other wizard know that he didn’t? Merlin, was _he_ the father of Draco’s baby? Zabini and he had never been close and Harry could count the number of conversations that they’d ever shared on a single hand.

The Slytherin was Ministry Envoy to France and so had spent most of the last six years away from England. The only friend that Harry and Zabini had in common was Draco. It was concern for him, and his baby, that had Harry _Accio’ing_ and pulling on his trainers at the same time as sending a Patronus with his agreement to meet. 

Harry had made his way to Muggle Soho soon as humanly possible. There was a secret Floo point at the back of Asti – luckily the place was wizard owned – and as soon as he’d stepped though into the bijou restaurant Harry had spied Blaise sat down at a table waiting for him. 

As soon as Harry sat down it was obvious that Zabini was tense. The two of them made stilted, artificial small talk while their waiter took their order but as soon as the man was out of earshot, Blaise wrapped their table with a wandless _Muffliato_. Harry raised an eyebrow – casting in front of Muggle, even without the use of a wand was really illegal – but Harry supposed that Blaise had some sort of Ministry exemption. 

“I want to talk about Draco,” Blaise said, leaning conspirationally across the table. “We’re worried. Theo. Mils. Greg. Even _Daph_.” He frowned, taking a sip from a tall glass of water by his side and then leant back in his chair. “You mightn’t believe it Potter, but there’s honour among serpents. We could teach you lions lessons about loyalty, about sticking by your friends-”

Harry hadn’t risen from his bed and Floo’ed over in a blind panic to just hear a lecture on school spirit. He rolled his eyes. 

“I left school the same time as you,” Harry interrupted, “and I’m well aware of the supposed traits of our houses.” He huffed out a dismissive noise, “and to be brutally honest? I genuinely don’t care. Real life has taught me that people don’t fit in four neat little boxes. I _do_ care about Draco though. Him and his baby. That’s why I rushed over here.”

The waiter began to walk over with their breakfasts and Blaise broke the _Muffliato_ , quick as a flash. The white-coated server gave them both their croissants and Harry watched as the other man ate a mouthful. Zabini was a consummate politician and Harry thought he looked to be deciding how much he wanted to say to him. Eventually Blaise swallowed and reinstated his spell. 

“ _We_ care too,” Blaise replied. Harry was surprised by how quiet and thoughtful his tone was. He broke another piece from his croissant but seemed then to have second thoughts and placed it back on his plate. “And we thought that you, of all people might know who the other father was. Fuck, but Milly even thought that it might even be you.”

“Well it isn’t,” Harry spat out, feeling his hackles rise. He pushed the inconvenient thought that Ron and Hermione had said much the same thing to the back of his mind. “Even if I _did_ know, I wouldn’t gossip. If you’re really Draco’s friend then you shouldn’t either.”

“Don’t be so precious, Potter,” Blaise scoffed. Most people folded when he chastised them – his Saviour reputation still held some weight – but Zabini wasn’t cowed in the slightest. “You holier-than-thou act might work for the sodding _Prophet_ and all the sycophants that donate to your charity but it won’t wash with me. We’re worried,” he repeated. “Daphne – well, she lives with Pansy – and she says that she hasn’t been home in three weeks. She’s been staying with Draco, at Half-Moon Lane.” Blaise massaged his temple and looked troubled. “None of it makes sense! We’re some of Pans and Draco’s oldest friends. Known him since he was a _child_. Thing is, Potter. The gang of us got together last night and we’re flummoxed. We don’t know what’s going on with Malfoy. Who the other father is. Merlin’s _tits_. Nott even thought it could be McLaggen, the idiotic arse. Draco wouldn’t go back near that twerp with a ten-foot broomstick.”

Harry didn’t reply, choosing to keep his own council. It was obvious that the Slytherins – apart from Parkinson – were every bit as oblivious as he was. These were people that had stood by Draco, through thick and thin, and his friend was keeping them in the dark, just as he was Harry. It all felt a bit devastating. Harry could see how the long years of the future were going to pan out. 

Harry could see how he’d forever be on the outside, looking in at Draco and his child. His whole self felt rife with hostility and bitterness and Harry couldn’t understand how he’d ever find his equilibrium again. Looking over at Blaise once more, Harry could see that the other wizard was still speaking. He made an effort to listen to what he was saying. 

“…and I _told_ Millie that no, the baby _couldn't_ be yours. Told her that Potter’d be singing from the blasted rooftops. I mean, you and Draco? The pair of you’ve both been making moony eyes at each other from the year _dot_ , but you’re both as bad as each other. Neither wizard daring to make the first move. Terrible luck Potter,” Blaise said, before delicately patting his mouth with a serviette. “It would seem the identity of the mystery man has you as stumped as the rest of us.” 

For a split second, Harry thought about denying his feelings for Draco, but the more rational part of his brain knew how ridiculous that would sound. Blaise was reputed to be part Veela, or some other exotic creature, and Harry knew that he’d see through his fibbing in seconds. 

“I wish the baby _were_ mine,” Harry said, the sense of relief at having finally telling the truth cathartic. Blaise – only tangentially linked to Harry’s life – felt like the perfect person to talk to. “And I am in love with Draco. I think I have been for a long time.” 

Harry drank his coffee as the rest of the story poured from him. 

He told Blaise about how upset Draco seemed and how diminished. He told him about Andromeda’s assertion that Draco had been visiting paternity Healers even before the baby had been conceived. Harry even told Blaise about Draco’s odd behaviours around the Phoenix offices, shutting down conversations and changing the subject to anything but his baby. 

“That’s the thing that I really don’t understand,” Harry said, his long speech drawing to a close. “Draco – and our mystery wizard – must have _planned_ this baby. So why aren't they ecstatic? Why aren’t they announcing their intention to bond in _The Prophet?_ If this were my baby I’d want the whole world to know.”

“That much I don’t know,” Blaise admitted, lounging back in his chair. “I _do_ that Pansy knows all but she isn’t saying a word. I must admit, it’s a pity the little one isn’t yours. Lucius was as unhinged as they come and Draco’s youth was naught but pure-blood customs and rules. He deserved better than this poor treatment.” He placed his serviette in the middle of his plate and Harry supposed that there wasn’t much else for the two of them to say. “I’ll send Pansy another owl,” Blaise concluded, pulling several bright Muggle notes from his wallet and leaving them on the table. “But I wouldn’t hold your breath, Potter. The witch is fiercely loyal to Draco and always has been. I don’t even think that Veritaserum would get the truth from her if she didn’t want to talk.”

Zabini made his excuses – he had some hush-hush meeting at the Ministry that he was already late for – and then he left, breaking the _Muffliato_ as he stood up. 

Harry looked down at his breakfast, feeling queasy and upset. He’d lost his appetite and the croissant looked greasy and disgusting. Meeting Blaise hadn’t helped at all. The Slytherins that has known Draco since childhood knew even less than he did. 

Harry felt more confused than ever.


	5. Chapter 5

October. 

Neville and Seamus, tired of Harry’s glum moods and persistent refusal to meet for a drink and a dance, had made him an offer that he couldn't refuse: steak, chips and a big slab of Treacle Tart. 

Harry hadn’t wanted to go, not really – he wasn’t sure how good his company would be – but, by the time the three wizards had been eating the first course, Harry was chuffed that he’d Floo’ed up to his friend’s home in Hogsmeade and let them cook dinner for him. 

“Hecate’s eyes,” Neville had exclaimed, taking in Harry’s dishevelled state and untidy clothes when he’d stepped through the fireplace. “You look like you haven’t eaten anything substantial in months! You’re more skin and bloody _bone_ than wizard.” 

Nev had sat Harry down, dispatched Seamus to their drinks cabinet and _Accio’ed_ three shot glasses which he had landed on the table with a gentle click. As soon as his husband had returned, Neville had poured out generous shots of the plum and cloudberry flavoured liqueur – “distilled from fruit I grew in my very own greenhouse,” – and the three of them had clinked their glasses. 

As soon as the syrupy cordial had hit the back of his throat, Harry had begun to feel better. 

“Tell us everything,” Seamus had said, as soon as their dinner plates were cleared away. “So, who is the lucky chap and, why, exactly, are you pining away to nothing?”

Harry, feeling the pleasant buzz of booze, good food and friendship had spilled everything about his unrequited love. Neville and Seamus – insulated from gossip by Hogwarts and distance – had been surprised by everything that he’d said. They’d both been there at that long-ago June night at the Leaky but both had assumed that Draco must been betrothed to some unknown man. The idea of a pure-blood wizard getting pregnant without a ring on his finger had made Neville’s jaw drop. As a member of the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight himself Nev been visibly scandalised by Harry’s news. 

Harry awoke the following morning sweaty, shivering and tangled in the patchwork quilt in his friend’s spare bedroom. He wasn’t sure how much he had drunk, but he realised rapidly that it must have have been a fair bit.

The room was blurry because he hadn’t yet put his glasses on but Harry soon became aware of what had roused him from his dreams. There was an owl at the window, a massive Great Grey that was tapping at the glass with a repetitive click. 

Harry stood on wobbly legs, scrambling for his specs as he did so. He unhooked the window and the bird swooped into the room. Squinting at the creature, Harry was surprised to see there was a message tied to the Grey’s leg that had his name on. That was all very odd. It must have tracked him all the way up from London. The owl must have been exhausted. There was a tub of treats on the windowsill and Harry pulled off the lid, scattering a handful down on the wood for the owl to munch on. 

Harry turned his attention back to the message. He sat down on the bed and unrolled the parchment. It was an official missive come straight from St Mungos. 

_“Dear Mr. Potter,”_ Harry read, deciphering the crooked, unfamiliar Healer-handwriting, _“I write on behalf of my patient, Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy. He attended St Mungos yesterday afternoon with worrying levels of stress and anxiety._

_My patient explained that he was finding the commute to the office and time spent there difficult, so I advised Mr. Malfoy to begin his paternal leave with immediate effect. I’m afraid that giving you any further details would be a violation of patient/Healer confidentiality, but please be assured that I would not have taken this step without good reason to do so._

_Yours faithfully, Healer Adam Blatherwick, DH.m, Dept. of Paternal Healing, St. Mungos.”_

Harry felt all the breath leave his body. He felt terrible. Draco had been miserable, so much so that his well-being had been suffered as a result. His hand, holding tight to the parchment trembled. Harry had secretly owl-ordered a couple of those wizard pregnancy books that he’d seen in Flourish and Blotts and he knew how dangerous depleted health could be for the baby. Male pregnancies like Draco’s were magically supported and could run into difficulties if the father got poorly or too run down. 

Harry’s eyes stung as he reread Blatherwick’s words. Reading between the lines, it was obviously time in the office of Phoenix that had made Draco ill. Why hadn’t he said anything? Why had he been sent this cold, official message out of the blue? Harry knew that he would have done anything in the world to help his friend but it felt like all he had done was upset him. 

Harry knew there was a Muggle pen in his jacket pocket that Harry kept about for emergencies and, luckily, Seamus had thrown his coat over the bedroom chair. He fished out the pen from the depths of a pocket and jotted a down a note at the bottom of the parchment message that confirmed he had understood every word. Then Harry dispatched the Great Grey back to Blatherwick, giving the owl another few treats to send the bird on their merry way. 

After that, Harry pulled on his jacket and trainers and padded, silently as he could, down to his friend’s fireplace. He left a note for them which he stuck to front of their fridge with a charm. 

Harry knew he hadn’t been a brilliant mate to Nev and Seamus – getting drunk on them and then vanishing – but Harry knew that some things were more important. Draco was more important. His friend was suffering. Seconds later and Harry was back in Grimmauld Place. 

With a flick of his wand Harry cast a Patronus, the shining green sparkle of the corporeal stag luminous in the dull October light. 

_“I got the message from St Mungos,”_ Harry magicked it to say. _“I didn’t know that things had gotten so bad. What’s wrong? Can I do anything? Get you anything? Please talk to me.”_

A second twist of his wand sent his stag to Draco and then it was too late to have regrets. Harry shrugged off his jacket and made coffee, leaning against the counter while he waited for the kettle to boil. 

Draco, wherever he was, should have gotten the message by now. 

Harry had nearly halfway finished his drink by the time that Draco’s Patronus, a shining Camargue stallion appeared before his eyes. The answer that it gave Harry in Draco’s soft tones was disappointingly short. _“Thank you for the offer,”_ it answered, _“but no. I’m fine.”_

That, surely, couldn’t be everything that Draco wanted to say? Harry watched the horse, waiting for the rest of Draco’s message but then he felt his heart flutter with sadness as the creature began to fade into nothingness. This had to stop, and it had to stop now. He loved Draco – cared for him desperately – and Harry couldn't even begin to understand where and how things had gone so badly wrong between the pair of them. 

Seized with impulsivity, Harry took his wand in hand once more. Perhaps he was still a little drunk from the night before, or perhaps he knew that if he didn’t fight he was going to lose everything that he only now knew that he’d always needed. He cast an _Expecto Patronum_ , slicing through the air a second time with his wand and then Harry found himself speaking, sending a reply that he wanted Draco to hear and think about. 

_“Stop this Draco!”_ Harry uttered, swirls and coils of sparking magic coiling and dancing around him. _“Just, for Merlin’s sake, stop it! I don’t understand what it is you think that you’re doing! I can’t handle the way that you’re shutting me out. You’ve cast everyone out into the cold. Our workmates, the other Slytherins…Why? Is it because you’re unmarried? Because you’ll be a single father? None of us care about that, Draco! We aren't bothered about the baby! We only care about you!”_

The minute that the words left Harry’s mouth he was crippled with regret. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all. Harry spoke frantically, sending another Patronus and trying to undo the awful damage and hurt of the last message. 

_“That wasn’t what I meant!”_ Harry said, the words spilling out of his mouth in a torrential flood. _“Of course we’re bothered about your baby – we care about them, every bit as much as we care about you – and none of the rest of it matters at all! Not the other father. Not pure-blood traditions. Not other people’s opinions. Just let us – let me! – be there for you. That’s all I ask. I’m your friend. Just, please, let me in.”_

Harry hesitated. 

That still wasn’t everything that he needed to say. He decided to lay it all on the line, knowing that if he didn’t say what was in his heart he’d regret it for the rest of his days. 

_“I am your friend and I feel like I’ve lost you. I don’t know what I did, and I don’t know how I hurt you but I’m sorry. I miss you, more that I ever thought I would do and I can’t stand the growing void between us. Talk to me. Please Draco. Please forgive me.”_

Harry watched the last vestiges of magic vanish before his eyes. 

Draco didn’t reply and Harry realised that he’d given up expecting him to. 

Throwing the rest of his now-cold coffee into the sink, Harry made his way slowly up the stairs. There was a hangover curative potion in his bedside cabinet but he decided to skip it. The idea of pasting a fake smile on his face and trying to get through the rest of another day pretending his heart wasn’t shattered made Harry feel heartsick and hopeless. 

Harry crawled under the sheets of his bed and _Nox’ed_ the light of the day away, trying desperately to pretend that he hadn’t ruined everything. 

~~

It only hit Harry when he walked into Phoenix the following Monday just how much he was going to miss Draco. 

It wouldn’t just be the sight of the wizard: it’d be the scent of his ludicrously posh fruit teas in their shared offices, or the sight of his twirly signature on documents beside his own. Draco’s was the voice of reason when Harry’s ideas were unfeasible and the voice of comfort when they’d had bad, challenging days. 

Now Harry was faced with the idea that he might not speak to Draco for months on end. His baby was due in January, and that meant they wouldn’t swap Christmas gifts. They wouldn’t tease each other about their plans for Christmas day and they wouldn't see in the New Year together like they ordinarily would, drinking brandy as the clocks chimed midnight. 

Harry felt his heart skip a beat when he realised that the next time he met Draco, it’d be at St Mungos after he’d delivered the baby and, as it was, he wasn’t even sure whether he’d be wanted there. Harry knew there were a million things that he ought to be doing – checking the details of Phoenix's latest campaign, thanking kind donors or even trying to get up to date with his diary – but as he sat at his office chair the words swam and blurred on the page. 

Without Draco, his whole world lacked colour. The two men hadn’t gone a week without seeing each other since leaving school and Harry couldn't understand how things between them had come to be as bad as they were. It took less than three days before Harry found himself standing at the door of Draco’s Half-Moon Lane home. 

It was late in the evening and the sun had set hours before. He couldn’t see any lights on, but Harry couldn’t let that put him off. Perhaps he shouldn’t be there but Harry knew that he wasn’t coping well at all. He was barely sleeping and he hardly ate. Harry shivered at the evening chill in the air and then he knocked, hard as he could, on the iron door handle. 

Nobody came to the door, so Harry tried once more. He could hear muffled speech from inside. “Draco, please! Let me in,” Harry cried, louder than he had expected. He hadn’t meant to shout. There was a sudden light in Draco’s front lounge. Harry decided to give it one last go. “Please! Let me in. I have to talk to you!”

Pansy was the one to answer him though. “Go home,” the witch said, her voice muffled through the thick wooden door. “You’re upset and you’re making a great bloody show of yourself. You’ll be on the cover of the sodding _Prophet_ if you don’t pull yourself together soon Potter. You should go home.”

Harry didn’t care about his reputation, not any longer. He didn’t much care about respectability or even about idiotic notions of dignity any longer. All he cared about was Draco, and Pansy – much as he wanted to applaud her for caring about her friend – was the gatekeeper that Harry needed to vanquish. She needed to convince her to let him through so that he could say his piece. 

“I don’t want to go home,” Harry answered, trying his hardest to make his tone reasonable. It didn’t work. His voice was loud, rough with upset. “Pansy, _please_. I need to talk to him.”

The door didn’t budge and Harry felt distress burn though his blood. “You need to go home,” Pansy repeated. “It’s just such an awful idea for you to be here. He’s upset and so are you. Go home, Harry. Why are you even here?”

Harry made every effort he could to keep his voice down. A few lights had begun to flicker on in various windows down the lane and he knew there’d be nosy neighbours staring down at him in mere moments. Harry could feel courage start to vanish. He was losing Draco. His friend was slipping through his fingertips. “Something’s gone really wrong,” Harry replied, his breath hitching. “And I need to sort this, Pansy. I’ve made so many mistakes these last few months. I feel like I've ruined everything.”

Parkinson didn’t reply to that and Harry didn’t know what that meant. Maybe she was Firecalling Ron, telling his friend to come and collect him. Maybe she was vacillating. Harry just didn’t know. He could hear Draco’s voice as well, the aristocratic tone of it sharp and pointed but Harry couldn't make out anything that he was saying. 

“Pansy, _please_ ,” Harry repeated. “I’m a good person, a decent man and I love Draco. You know I don’t want to hurt him. I know I’ve said the wrong things but just give me a chance to make things right. The baby? I admit it, I was surprised. I didn’t know that Draco was courting, let along that it was _this_ serious and-”

All of a sudden, the door opened, breaking Harry’s words off mid-sentence. Pansy slipped through the door and stood before him, face clouded with frustration and annoyance. 

“Bloody hell, Harry,” she said, her brown eyes meeting his own and refusing to look away. “How are _you_ the Saviour of the wizarding world? You’re the biggest, most oblivious _prat_ that there’s ever been.” 

Reaching out, Pansy’s thin fingers wrapped around Harry’s shoulder. They hurt, but Harry didn’t dare shake her off or voice a complaint. 

“Don’t you dare hurt him,” Pansy uttered, and even though she was a head shorter than he, Harry felt respect. He could see how much she too loved Draco. “And yes,” she continued, “I know you’re a good person, but you’re such a blasted bloody Gryffindor! Always rushing in without thinking or considering your options. If you must talk, then _talk_. Don’t shout. Don’t demand. This is your one chance to make things right Harry. If you blow it, then I swear I’ll curse you ‘till my dying day.”

Pansy’s eyes were fierce in the darkness and Harry was quite sure that her threats weren’t even the slightest bit false. “I meant what I said,” Harry replied. “I do love Draco. I’ve loved him longer than I ever realised. I wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – hurt him. “

With his confession, Pansy let go of Harry’s shoulder. 

She shook her head and then suddenly, surprisingly, leant in to press the smallest of kisses onto Harry’s cheek. “I know that you do. We all of us have known for years, Potter. Perhaps that’s why you need these,” Pansy smiled, tapping the side of his glasses. “You’ve always struggled to see exactly what was there, right in front of your face.”

Pansy laughed at that, and then she was Disapparating, turning on the spot and disappearing. Harry watched until the last vestiges of her magic had gone and then he turned back to look at Draco’s door. 

He took a deep breath, pulling together all of the rough edges of his courage and trying to hold them tight. Harry knew that he was supposed to be brave – he had statues and medals galore, as well as a First Class Order of Merlin – but right at that moment he was a bundle of nerves. Opening that door, and actually talking with Draco suddenly seemed more terrifying than any dragon, basilisk or Dark Lord. 

Harry’s heart thrummed and his head spun as he pushed open the entrance and walked through. He needed to be inside – inside with _Draco_. It was time to tell his truth. 

It was darker inside Draco’s home than Harry had thought it would be so it took his vision a moment to adjust to the dim light. The entrance hall felt achingly familiar from the million times that Harry had been here, pulling off his shoes before eating take-out or enjoying a couple of pre-nightclub drinks. 

Everything was still as scrumptiously tidy and elegant as always. Dozens of photographs covering every surface, competing only with the splashy modern art pictures that Harry admired, although he’d be the first to admit he couldn’t always tell exactly what he was supposed to be looking at. 

Draco was waiting for him, sat on the settee in his lounge. The only source of light in the room was the _Lumos_ of Draco’s wand. Harry was struck by just how divine the other wizard looked in the gauzy shadow. He slowly entered the room, not wanting to spook his friend. 

Harry sat down, angling his body so that there was as much room as possible between the two men. Skittish anxiety radiated from his friend – Draco sat, arms crossed tight across his chest – and he had pulled his legs up onto the seat, aiming to make himself seem as small as possible. 

And Harry found that he couldn't draw his eyes away from Draco. Merlin, but Draco seemed to glow with innate, natural radiance. His blond hair was longer than Harry had ever seen it before and it hung loose, softly brushing Draco’s shoulders. 

Now well into his third trimester, Draco had gotten bigger too. At work, the other man had always worn loose, dark robes and his changing figure hadn’t been obvious. Right now though, Draco wore light blue cotton pyjamas and they did nothing to hide the round swell of his stomach. 

“Hello,” Harry began, keeping his voice gentle. When Draco didn’t reply he cleared his throat, trying once more. “I’m sorry,” he said, nodding towards the pyjamas. “I must have woken you. You know me. Always rushing into things, not thinking. Not thinking before I rush in. I just- Well, I just had to see you. I missed you. I never even thought about how late it had gotten.” 

Harry shut up abruptly. He was rambling, trying to fill the unfathomable chasm that he felt seeping into the space between Draco and himself. Harry cast his eyes around the room. 

Everything in the lounge was so _Draco_ , as chic and as warm as the wizard himself and Harry suddenly realised that here, at Half-Moon Place, felt far more like home to him than Grimmauld Place ever had. 

Startled, Harry realised that _this_ was the life he wanted. 

He wanted to live here amongst Draco’s old family heirlooms and the hundreds of books that the man had packed onto every shelf. Harry wanted the walls to be filled with photographs of their special days, every image documenting year after year of happy, shared lives. 

Harry felt his eyes drift across to the man beside him. One of Draco’s hands rested, unconsciously, on the jut of his bump, his fingers splayed lightly over the soft cotton. 

Harry wanted to share that warm familiarity with Draco. He wanted to be the person visiting St Mungos alongside him, watching the baby wriggling on the magi-scan and gasping at just how much they had grown. Harry wanted to hold Draco close, wrap his arms around his middle and feel the baby when they shifted and kicked. 

Harry wanted – craved with all his urgent heart – to be the other father of Draco’s baby. 

The image was so vivid, so colourful and so _brilliant_ that Harry felt like he could nearly reach out, snatching it from the air like a Snitch. Harry wanted to give his life to Draco and share a future with him and the baby he was carrying. There was so _much_ that Harry wanted but Pansy’s words were ringing in his ears. This was his one chance to make things right and right now, he wasn’t doing it. Harry was failing miserably and making everything worse. Draco hadn’t replied to him yet – hadn’t uttered a single noise – and Harry could see how truly upset the other wizard was. 

There was dark smudges under both of his friend’s eyes so Draco couldn't have been sleeping much and his lips were thin and far drier than Harry could ever remember seeing them. Worse still, Draco’s nostrils were red raw and sore, like he’d blown his nose far too often. Harry had rarely met anybody who looked after their appearance as well as Draco usually did, so to see him as desolate as this was a shock. Harry felt heartbroken. 

Even though he’d sworn that he wouldn’t push him, Harry let his hand shoot out and take hold of Draco’s own. He knotted their fingers together and gave them a little squeeze. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said emphatically, wanting Draco to know that he meant everything he said. “I’m sorry if what I said, or did, made it too hard to for you to come into work or if I unwittingly hurt you. You must know that you mean everything to me. I’m not like you, Draco. I’m not a brainbox. I’m no great man of words. Just tell me – _show_ me – how I can make this better. I can’t bear to lose you.”

Draco shook his head. 

“Why are you apologising?” Draco asked, his voice scratchy and broken. “I’m the selfish one. The one that’s ruined everything.”

Harry felt like all the dials in his brain had stopped turning. It was as if he and Draco were talking at cross purposes and however much he squinted the bigger picture wouldn’t come into focus. He gave Draco’s hand another squeeze and risked sliding a little closer across the settee. There was only one way that things between them would ever get solved and that was through talking. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry began, casting a warming spell over his friend and he. Draco had begun to shiver and Harry couldn't bear it. “I’ve never once thought you were selfish. That thought never once crossed my mind.” He took a deep breath. “If it’s okay with you, I’m just going to speak. That’s something that neither of us have been doing enough of. I’m just going to talk and then, if you want me to leave, I will do.”

Beside him, Draco nodded. He sniffed once, but didn’t say no to his suggestion. Harry took that for agreement. 

“All right,” Harry explained. “This wasn’t ever about your baby.” He felt his eyes flick down, unconsciously, down to Draco’s bump. “It wasn’t about you being pregnant, Draco. I can promise you that much. I’ll admit, finding out the way I did hurt. From Pansy, in the Leaky- _bloody_ -Cauldron? That was a shock.” Harry paused. He _still_ wasn’t saying what he really wanted to. “But I could understand it. I could get it. Everything since though? I feel like nothing makes sense. You told me that you wanted your baby – told me that you already loved them so much – yet all that I feel from you is this sense of overwhelming sorrow.” He ploughed on, the words starting to flow. “You didn’t tell anyone about your hospital appointments and you didn’t show us your magi-scan pictures! You made it clear that you baby wasn’t up for discussion either. You _said_ you were happy, but since then you’ve seemed everything but.”

Draco made a small sound then, a tiny noise from deep in his throat. Every single word felt like a herculean endeavour but Harry knew that he just had to keep talking. 

Draco hadn’t shown him the door yet, or kicked him to the curb. He was listening and Harry couldn’t ask for more than that. 

“And I _know_ that it isn’t just me that’s felt confused,” he continued, the words falling out of his mouth as speedily as a hex. “Ron, Hermione… Your friends. Our colleagues at Phoenix. They’ve all of them been asking _me_ , as if _I_ was supposed to know! Like you’d actually have trusted me with that part of your life!”

Harry felt his words die in his throat. He was so close to dropping his guard now. He was so close to saying the words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so many months. 

“And when I said that none of us were bothered about that baby? That wasn’t true. That baby – your _child_ – well, they’re a part of _you_. And you matter to us, Draco. You matter to me.”

The two of them were sat together so closely now. 

By some miracle of miracles Draco hadn’t fled and he appeared to be listening intently. The air between them felt thick, felt cloying and heavy with all the words that had been left unsaid. With every last shred of Gryffindor bravery, Harry reached his other hand out and let it rest on Draco’s forearm. 

The other wizard’s skin seemed to tingle beneath Harry’s fingertips and he felt Draco’s stormy grey eyes look at him questioningly. This was the closest that Draco and he had been physically since June and Harry felt his tummy thrum with a nervous quivering energy. 

It would take very little effort for him to close the space between them and reach out, meeting Draco’s lips with his own. 

“You matter to me,” Harry repeated, every word infused with a sense of urgency. “ _You_ matter. Setting up our charity? Becoming your friend? That was a life I made for myself, Draco. A life I made with you beside me. With you I wasn’t ever the Chosen One, or some bloody _Saviour_. I was just Harry and that was always enough.” He shook his head. “You gave me a life and now you’re unhappy and I can’t stand it. You’re having a baby, and you’ll be an amazing Dad, and this should be the most exciting time of your life, and yet you’re unhappy -”

“I’m not unhappy, Harry,” Draco interjected. “It’s not as simple as-”

Harry couldn’t let Draco take over and diminish what he was trying valiantly to say. 

“-and I’m jealous,” Harry cut in each word as heavy as a stone. “I’m so bloody jealous! It eats at me, every hour. Every minute-”

“Jealous?” Draco replied. “Of _what?_ Of being an unbonded father? Of facing a whole new, terrifying existence with nobody beside me? You’ll find the right man, Harry and then you’ll have a family before you know it-”

But Harry knew that simply wasn’t true. They’d never be anyone else apart from Draco. 

“You don’t understand,” Harry said, speaking over Draco. “I’m jealous of _him_. Of Cormac McLaggen, or Francis, or any of the other faceless, anonymous men I imagine was lucky enough to father your baby.” Harry winced, knowing that he’d surely be asked to leave now. He’d overstepped the mark by a million, billion miles. “And I detest him, Draco. I detest him! I hate that he got the gift of making a baby with you, of making _love_ to you but that he isn’t here. That he didn’t stand by you. I loathe that he’s hurt you.” Harry’s heart raced. Draco had made it clear from their very first conversation in their office that the other man wasn’t in the picture and that he wasn’t to be mentioned.“Most of all, I hate that he isn’t me. I wouldn't have left you and I wouldn't have been ashamed. I’d have loved your baby from the very first moment they existed.”

As every word spilled from his mouth, Harry felt Draco’s arm tense below his fingertips. As Harry finished his last sentence he jerked out from under Harry’s touches. Harry stared into Draco’s eyes. They were dark, his pupils blown wide and as big as saucers. 

“Cormac Mc... _McLaggen?_ ” Draco stuttered, looking wholly appalled at the idea. “You do realise that I haven’t seen that prat for about four years? And as for Francis: he’s quite happily ensconced in Washington politics. I can assure you that my baby isn’t the _slightest_ thing to do with him. Oh Harry. You’ve simply no clue whatsoever-”

“I don’t care who they were,” Harry answered, his words a torrent that was wholly independent of his brain. He needed Draco to listen, to believe everything that he was trying to say. “I don’t care. They had the chance to love you. Had the chance to look after you, to do the decent bloody thing and they didn’t. They blew it.” Harry gulped, breath catching in his throat. “I’d give anything – _everything_ – in my life to turn back the clock and have this be _my_ baby. For this to be our life. I love you, Draco. I’m in love with you and you’re shutting me out. I love you so bloody much-”

“You love me?” Draco interjected, his voice almost a rasp. All of the remaining colour blanched from his face. Harry felt thin fingers grasp hold of his hand and Draco pressed the palm of it across the smooth curve of his cotton-covered bump. “We’re really doing this now, Harry? Have you forgotten that I’m seven months gone? That we haven’t had a proper conversation in months? You’ve genuinely just said that you _love_ me?”

Harry had. Those words, and the feelings behind them were alive, and not even the most powerful magic in the word could destroy them. 

Harry didn’t move his hand from where Draco had placed it, but instead he let his fingers spread slowly over the warm material. 

“I do love you,” Harry replied. “And I’m only sorry that I took so long to realise. You used to call me a thickhead at school Draco and perhaps you were right. I’ve not come here to demand anything – or to put any pressure on you – and I can imagine this is a surprise, and-”

Harry couldn’t say another word after that. Without either warning or explanation, Draco suddenly moved a hand up to Harry’s untidy hair and he moved his body in close so that there was scarcely any space left between the pair of them. 

“I love you too,” Draco murmured, bringing his mouth close so that sweet breath danced over Harry’s cheek. “All of my life I’ve loved you.” Th moment felt entirely divine and Harry could hardly believe that this was his life. Draco _loved_ him. Each of Draco’s words was a hot puff of air and the wizard’s skin radiated silky warmth under his fingertips. “I’ve waited for years to hear you say it back,” Draco whispered. 

He brought his lips up to meet Harry’s own and then they were _kissing_. Draco was kissing him and it was every bit as blissful and as brilliant as Harry could ever have dared dream. His friend’s mouth was pliable, soft and welcoming. 

To begin with, their kiss was chaste – hesitant, even uncertain – but as the seconds passed the heat between them began to grow. Harry could even feel the shape of Draco’s smile beneath his own. Draco was as wonderful at kissing as he was at everything else in his life. 

With the tiniest of moans the blond wizard opened his mouth and deepened their kiss. Harry explored all the shapes of Draco’s mouth and felt the tickle of his friend’s tongue across his own. Their kiss was a glorious thing. It wasn’t fumbling or ungainly like first kisses tended to be. 

Instead, their kiss was languid, almost dreamlike and Harry had the strongest, oddest feeling that the two of them had been born simply to slot together like this, two sides of the same Sickle. It felt ludicrous that Draco and he had waited twenty-six years to start kissing when they ought to have been doing it their entire lives. When they broke apart Harry had no idea how long they had kissed for. Draco’s face was flushed red, his eyes were glazed and his lips were wet. He was grinning and Harry knew that his face bore exactly the same expression. 

“You really love me?” Draco asked, tucking a tuft of Harry’s hair behind his ear. “I’ve loved you since we were boys, Harry. Since school.”

Harry snuggled into Draco’s side and tucked one arm around him. 

“I do. I love you. I’m only sorry it’s taken so long to see what was always there. Pansy said the same thing outside,” Harry smiled wryly. “She said that everybody knew. Said that I’ve always struggled to see exactly what was there, right in front of my face.” Harry had the sudden craving to turn his head and capture Draco’s mouth for more kisses. It would have been a simple, easy move. 

The two of them had wasted enough time and Harry decided there and then that he could easily spend the whole rest of his days kissing Draco. 

“If you love me then we need to keep talking,” Draco said, letting his head rest gently on Harry’s shoulder. His fluffy blond hair was as ticklish as a feather on Harry's skin. 

“Can we kiss first?” Harry asked. “Just for one more minute?”

Draco gave him a crooked smile and shook his head. 

“No. We need to talk. You said your piece, Harry. Now it’s my turn. It’s important.” Draco’s tone was earnest and Harry felt some of the burst of good feelings that he’d enjoyed since their kiss start to wither. He’d thought their shared confession and delicious kiss had meant they were destined to be together but perhaps he’d seized the wrong end of the broomstick? 

“I’m listening,” Harry said, hearing concern and confusion in his voice. 

“You don’t have to be jealous,” Draco said, his voice quiet. He looked pensive for a moment. “Not of McLaggen, not of Francis and not of any nameless, faceless wizard that you’ve conjured up with that powerful imagination of yours. There _isn’t_ another father. No doubt this will be an _utter_ bolt from the blue, but the man you’ve been obsessing about isn’t real and he never has been, Harry.” Draco seemed to breath a sigh of relief. “I got pregnant through artificial insemination. The only thing you need to be envious of is a phial of fertility potion.” 

Draco turned and gave Harry a soft smile. It looked like a great weight had left the wizard’s shoulders and he gave his wand a little swish. A piece of parchment flew from the shelves beside and landed in Harry’s hands. Not truly able to quite compute everything that he’d just been told, Harry unrolled the document with shaking fingers. 

It was covered in densely scribed French. Harry looked over at Draco haplessly, unable to remember even the most basic of translation spells. 

“This is my contract from _Nouveaux Horizons_ ,” Draco explained upon seeing Harry’s confused expression. “A French fertility clinic. I went there in January, not long after Francis left to go back to America. The thing was, Harry, I’ve always known that I wanted a family… And for people like me – pure-blooded wizards – that process can often be a little more difficult. Centuries of interbreeding with the same narrow bunch of Sacred Twenty-Eight families means I’m not really made of the strongest physical stuff. I’ve always known that the window might be a tad shorter for me and, as the years passed, having a child of my own started to feel more and more like an imperative-”

“But a fertility clinic?” Harry questioned. He still felt entirely shocked but some of the holes in his understanding were beginning to fill. This was why Andromeda had been so sure that Draco had been seeing Blatherwick as early as February. This was why Draco had been so upset in the Leaky when they’d all teased him and Greg had called it an ‘immaculate conception’. This was why he’d been so insistent that he didn’t want to be the subject of gossip. 

Draco nodded. “A fertility clinic. I’m going to be honest with you,” the blond wizard explained, “and lay all my tarot cards on the table, so to speak. When I said that I’d loved you all my life, I wasn’t fibbing.” He knitted Harry’s fingers though his own. “Even at school you just radiated a glow. I was fascinated. Consumed by it. I knew I couldn’t ever have you, so I made myself as vile as I could – dismissive, a bully – and that was all hunky-dory whilst Father was alive and influential. Lucius didn't have time for the fact I loved other boys. He’d never have allowed it. He wanted me married to an heiress and using her dowry to shore up the family vault -”

“But Lucius died,” Harry interrupted, giving Draco’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Not long after our Eighth Year.”

Draco looked sad, his face lost in long-ago memories. 

“Father could never have coped with Azkaban for another dozen years,” Draco replied, bringing himself back to the present. “Losing Lucius was a double edged sword, Harry. I was finally free to live my life the way I wished but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth of my feelings. What if you’d have rejected me? Called me out for the bully that I used to be? It wasn’t like you weren't in my life. We were finally the friends that I’d always hoped we might be. We worked hard and made Phoenix a bigger success than I'd ever dreamt it would achieve.” Draco walked his fingers over Harry’s forearm. “I thought for a time that we might get together when you recognised you were gay – sometimes I came _achingly_ close to kissing you – but we never did. I suppose I always thought you must know how I felt and just didn’t feel the same way.”

“I was oblivious,” Harry answered. “You should have kissed me and neevr stopped. I wish that you had.”

“And I only wish that I had too,” Draco answered. “No relationship – not Cormac, not Francis – none of them ever lasted, simply because none of those men were _you_. And that’s where my little one comes in.” Draco looked down fondly towards his swollen tummy. “Time was passing. I was getting older and with every year that passed I worried that my chance to have a family was vanishing.” He sighed and shook his head. “Francis left me – told me to get over my fixation, told you and I would never happen – and I decided to take him at his word. I decided it was time to stop pining and move on with my life. Pansy and I went to Paris, visited _Nouveaux Horizons_ and the rest, as the Muggles say, is history. It would seem that all my fears about reducing fertility were nothing but that: fears.”

“It was easier than you’d imagined?” Harry asked.

“I got pregnant on my first attempt,” Draco answered, “even though I was told by Blatherwick it’d take me _months_. The thirtieth of March. The date is seared into my memory like a curse! Merlin, but it was all a bit of a shock at the beginning.”

Draco’s story made so much sense. Harry remembered just how terrified Draco had been on that first morning when they’d talked in Phoenix’s offices. He remembered exactly how hormonal, overwhelmed and exhausted the other man had been. Harry remembered Draco’s words, too: _‘It all just happened so fast.”_

Harry felt his heart swell with love and a sheer, unfiltered respect for his friend. Draco had made such a brave decision when he’d decided to have a baby alone, despite every norm and convention of his upbringing. No wonder the wizard had been so preoccupied about not being gossiped and slandered. This was a story that would have made headlines in _The Prophet_ for days on end and Draco’s story would have been endlessly raked over. 

Draco seemed to warm to the subject now he was talking about his baby. 

“I don’t know much of anything about my donor. Pansy and I picked Monsieur _cent vingt-huit_ out of their book because he was a Healer – so _hopefully_ kind and intelligent – and because he had black hair like you.” Draco bent his head, his cheeks burning a sudden brilliant red in embarrassment. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty. I was never going to tell you. It was just going to be my little secret.”

Harry didn’t have the words in his vocabulary to reply. He pulled Draco to him, unable to wait even another minute to kiss his friend hard and to show him that neither he or the baby would ever have to be alone, not ever again in their lives. It broke Harry’s heart a little to think that Draco’s baby could have been his own, made out of their love, if only his friend had taken the chance and kissed him. What was done was done though and their pasts couldn’t be changed. Draco and he had each other now and their futures were as yet unwritten.

“No, I’m glad you told me,” Harry replied when they broke for breath. “I’m sorry you had to wait all those years for me to finally see sense.”

Draco smirked at his reply. “You’ve never been the speediest at seeing what was right before you. It doesn’t matter. I’ve got you here with me now.”

The two of them began kissing once more and Harry could only sigh in wonderment. With other men, kissing had always felt somehow adolescent, an entrée to rushed through before diving straight into the lovemaking but that wasn’t how Harry felt tonight. Their kisses had a sensuality all of their own and Harry was floating on them. 

Kissing Draco felt natural – felt earthy, _uninhibited_ – and rather like the two of them had been doing it for years rather than mere minutes. The only time the two of them pulled apart was to draw in deep, ragged breaths before they dived back in for more, Harry already missing the taste of his friend. 

Draco’s mouth tasted clean; minty as freshly-cast toothpaste charms and he made the most beguiling little sounds. Harry buried his hands in the silky stands of Draco’s hair and the two of them kissed for what seemed like hours. Harry didn’t doubt that he could have kissed Draco forever but for one not-so-small matter: the round swell of Draco’s middle that sat between the pair of them. 

Harry was hyper aware of the bump and had been kissing at an odd angle, apprehensive about pushing against his friend, hurting the baby or otherwise making Draco feel uncomfortable. Reluctantly, Harry finally broke their kiss. 

Draco’s cheeks were flushed and his lips looked shiny and slack with arousal. 

“If you’d like,” Draco said, “we could continue this upstairs? I’ve got a lovely big bed and I’m, _um_ … Well, I’m sure that it’d be more comfortable. Only, of course, if that was what you wanted.”

Sharing Draco’s big comfortable bed certainly _was_ what Harry wanted. He stood up and leant back down to where Draco was sitting. Harry kissed several light, almost chaste kisses down the side of the other wizard’s jaw before he held out a hand. “Lead the way.”

The two of them made their slow way up the stairs to Draco’s bedroom. This was a part of Half-Moon Lane that Harry had never been to before but the whole space was warm, luxurious and just so brilliantly Draco. The walls were pale cream and the carpet below his feet was thick and sumptuous. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture besides the bed, which was without doubt the vastest item of furniture that Harry thought he had ever seen. He though that it must have come from the Manor when Draco had moved in. The sheets were heavy white cotton and there were huge amounts of fluffy pillows plied high. 

With a murmured charm, Draco _Lumosed_ the lights so that they shone with a hushed glow and then he turned, looking bashfully at Harry. “Thank you for being here,” Draco murmured. “This is my every dream come true.”

Harry smiled. There wasn’t anything in the whole world that he coveted more Draco. He adored ever part of the man. 

“And for me too,” Harry answered. There was only just one thing that he needed to do, something that he knew he ought to take care of before things went any further. “You get yourself ready,” he said, nodding towards the bed. “I’ve just got one little thing to take care of.”

Diving into the bathroom, Harry took out his wand. It was a second of work to cast a Patronus – all he had to think about was Draco’s warm breath as he’d said _I love you_ – and then his shimmering stag was stood before him once more. 

_“You were right,”_ Harry told Pansy. _“Right in every way. I’ve always struggled to see exactly what was there, right in front of my face. Draco’s told me everything – about his feelings, about the baby – and I’m here with him. Thank you for being such a good friend.”_

The witch replied to his message immediately. Her Patronus was a Persian cat and it looked up at Harry with green glinting eyes. 

_“Finally!”_ it said, a hit of laughter in Pansy’s voice. _“The pair of you have driven the rest of us quite bonkers, but there isn’t a pair of wizards better suited to each other in existence. Take care of him? He’s absurdly precious to me.”_

Pansy’s reply delighted Harry. He flicked his wand and sent a message straight back. _“And to me too,”_ he said. _“I’ll look after him. I promise.”_

~~

As soon as Pansy’s Patronus had vanished Harry rushed back to the bedroom, eager to not be away from Draco for even a second longer than he needed to be. 

As soon as he closed the door behind him, Harry felt his jaw drop and his heart start to flutter. 

Draco had taken him at his word and gotten ready by stripping off every stitch of his clothing. The wizard was nestled in the centre of the quilt, surrounded on every side by a great pile of pillows. Harry couldn’t draw his eyes away. Draco was _resplendent_. Draco was every fantasy that Harry’s brain could have conjured and more besides. 

His friend’s hair was long, loose and spread across the pillow like a glossy halo. His limbs were long and svelte. Draco was nestled across the sheets like a deity – like Harry’s every _fantasy_ – and Harry wanted nothing more than to get on his knees and idolise every single inch of him. Harry was hardly conscious of stepping over to Draco but within moments he found himself sliding onto the bed beside him. 

He was unbelievably, shockingly aroused by the sight of Draco’s round, pregnant belly. “It’s a privilege,” Harry whispered – wanting to touch but not quite daring – “seeing you like this. So big with your baby.” 

Hesitating, Harry looked over at Draco for permission. As much as he loved Draco and the baby growing within him, he felt incredibly aware of the intimacy of the act. He didn’t want to overstep of trespass over Draco’s boundaries. 

His friend seemed to recognise his indecision and he spoke, his voice unwavering in the silence of the room. “Please touch me,” Draco urged, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass. I won’t break, I promise.”

Harry did. He let his fingers drift over Draco’s swollen middle. He was unsure at first but at the moments passed his confidence grew. Draco’s tummy didn’t feel anything like Harry might have expected. It was firm but the skin stretched tight across it was still scrumptiously soft. It was marvellously warm, and as Harry explored with the pads of his fingers, he was seized with a sense of just how sacrosanct this moment was. It was an incredible, almost divine, experience. 

Draco pulled Harry from his musings with a discreet cough. 

“Harry?” Draco murmured, “Not to say that I’m not enjoying your ministrations – I am, _truly,_ – but I was wondering if we might move things along a pace? I’m seven months pregnant, my entire _body_ is an erogenous zone and I haven’t been touched since last December! I’m randier than a thirteen year old with a stolen issue of _Naked Quidditch Studs_. I can scarcely see my own cock. Please, Harry. Touch me properly. _Please_.”

Harry – already as hard as a diamond – felt his own cock throb at Draco’s plea. 

No one in his whole life had ever wanted him, not really. Urgency coiled in his stomach and made his head feel dizzy. He needed to take care of Draco – needed to touch him, and be touched in return – as soon as humanly possible. 

If this were any kind of normal circumstance, Harry would have thrown himself into Draco’s arms but that simply wasn’t possible. He had to be mindful of Draco’s bump and so he held himself back. It took Harry mere moments to disrobe. 

“I’ll take care of you, Draco. I love you.” Harry answered, his voice rough with desire. “I want to make this so good for you.” Draco lay on his side so Harry got onto the bed facing him and then they began to kiss. It was profoundly erotic: Draco’s bump was between them, pressing against the flat of Harry’s belly. 

The two of them lost the next few minutes to kissing. Their mouths slid together, hot and sexy, and Harry felt his own prick pulse and leak with want. He was just so turned on by the beautiful human being in front of him. Harry trailed fingertips slowly, seductively, over Draco’s side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Perhaps it was a pregnancy thing – or perhaps just a Draco Malfoy thing – but Harry didn’t think he’d ever known a partner who was so responsive. 

It didn’t take long for their kisses to turn more passionate. Draco’s darting clever tongue seemed to be everywhere, all at once, and Harry pushed his leg between Draco’s legs to give the blond wizard something to grind his hips against. 

“Have you got lube?” Harry managed when Draco finally broke their kisses. 

“In the drawer beneath the bed,” Draco replied, shifting away from Harry and moving up the bed, With a blink of wandless magic and Draco’s muttered _Accio_ the drawer flew open and a small jar flew up and into Harry’s hands. 

“I’m going to open you up,” Harry said, nudging Draco gently onto his back. “Tell me if I do anything that feels even the slightest bit uncomfortable. I’ll stop straight away.”

“Just get me ready,” Draco urged, his eyes clouded over by feeling. “Need you now. Have done forever.”

Harry chose one of Draco’s fluffier pillows and tapped the other wizard’s hip, encouraging him to lift up his leg while he slid it underneath him. Draco might want him to hurry but Harry was going to do everything possible to make this experience as comfy for his friend as he could. He knew how much their lovemaking meant to Draco. He wanted everything to be perfect – wanted Draco to remember this night always – and Harry wasn’t about to rush. 

Merlin, but Draco looked a gorgeous picture as he slowly opened his legs and exposed himself to Harry. The dark-haired wizard felt full of awe. “I never expected all of this,” Harry said reverently. “Every part of you looks sexy.”

Harry unscrewed the lid of the jar and scooped out a generous dollop with his fingers. He brought his fingers down and began spreading the slippery wetness all around. He caressed Draco’s thigh with his other hand, locking his gaze with the other man. 

“We’ve got all night,” Harry continued, pushing the tip of his finger into Draco’s tightly furled heat, “so I’m not going to rush. I know it’s been a little while – for both of us – so I'm just going to take it slowly. Take my time.”

Harry knew, in the depths of his heart, that in the past he hadn’t always been the most generous of lovers. There had been times, with other men, that he’d rushed through the preparation, his eyes firmly on the prize of his orgasm. Not with Draco though. His own cock was desperately hard but that all felt secondary. All Harry wanted right now was to look after his lover and give him the time of his life. 

Draco didn’t reply, but he nodded his head, giving Harry tacit approval to continue. 

Harry pushed in a little deeper, wiggling his finger around. He relished the feeling of Draco’s clenched muscles contracting around him. True to his word, Harry was pacing himself, but even so, it was obvious that Draco was beginning to really enjoy himself. The wizard had begun to make lovely little breathy moans as Harry started moving his finger back and forth in little motions. It didn’t take many minutes for Draco to acclimatise. Very soon the blond wizard was undulating his hips and pushing back onto Harry’s hand with unselfconscious moans of delight. 

“Add another finger?” Draco implored. “I’m ready. _Ah!_ This all feels so bloody _nice,_ Harry. Please don’t stop.”

It did for him too. Harry pulled out his finger and re-coated both that, and the next digit in a liberal layer of lube. He pressed them both to Draco’s entrance and watched, captivated as they sank easily into Draco’s already slicked hole. 

“Mm,” Draco gasped, fidgeting and sweating. “The stretch. It’s been too long Harry! I can scarcely bear to wait.”

The sight of his lover was mesmerising and so very sexy. There was a primal, base part of his brain that was screaming with raw, greedy pride. _He_ was the one wringing sexy sounds from Draco’s mouth. _He_ was the one making Draco fret and writhe. Harry had spent so long being jealous of the unknown, unidentified man that suddenly being free of him felt like he’d been freed of an Unforgivable that Harry hadn’t even known had hit him. 

Harry kept his fingers still for a few beats, letting Draco get used to the sensation. Only when his friend nodded his consent did Harry began to really thrust his fingers in and out, thrilling to the scrumptious noises that Draco made with his every movement. Before much longer had passed, Harry found himself three fingers deep inside of Draco. The other wizard had opened up like a flower for Harry’s hand. 

Draco was panting, his cheeks were red and his eyes were glassy – unfocussed – as Harry finally pulled out his fingers, vanishing the lube with a _Scourgify_. The two of them shared a last, lazy snog and Harry let his hand drift down to his own sticky, neglected cock and he gave it a little squeeze. Now that it was finally time to have sex with Draco – whom he loved, and who loved him in return – Harry felt a little nervous. This was their very first time and he wanted it to be pleasurable for both of them. 

“How do you want to do this, love?” Harry asked, his eyes flicking down over Draco’s round tummy. He wasn’t used to working around a bump and the last thing he wanted was to hurt his friend or his baby. “Just tell me what you need from me.”

“Mm,” Draco paused, pondering Harry’s question for a moment. “At St Mungos they said sex was fine, as long as there wasn’t any pressure put on the baby. Not that I was paying much attention mind; I didn’t think that I’d _ever_ fuck another person.” Draco paused and gave Harry a gorgeous grin. “I think I’d like it with you behind me. I could tuck a couple of these pillows under me.”

That all sounded like the type of plan that Harry could get on board with. He helped Draco back onto his side and pressed a couple of hot, urgent kisses on Draco’s shoulder before helping him to get settled into place. Then, with a deep breath, Harry hitched up one of Draco’s legs up a little so that he could more easily push himself inside. He reached down and lined up his cock with Draco’s bottom. “Ready?” Harry asked. 

“Have been forever,” Draco replied. 

Harry pushed inside and felt his eyes shutter closed as he did so. The first tight side into another person’s body was the part of sex that he liked the best. He loved the sheer intimacy of the act and how it simply wasn’t possible to be any closer to another person. 

Draco’s body felt like it’d been created entirely with his pleasure in mind – he was the other half of soul that Harry hadn’t known was absent – and it welcomed him in as easily as any charm. Harry’s patient preparation paid off in spades: Draco’s arse was as pliant as could be and Harry inched in slowly, letting his lover adjust to every inch of his erection. It wasn’t long before his hips were nudging Draco’s bum as he bottomed out, seated entirely within his lover.

Harry stayed still. He didn’t think that he’d ever been so turned on in his whole life and he had to battle really hard not to orgasm right away. He didn’t think that it’d take very much at all to tip him over the edge but deep breathing took away the immediacy of his climax. 

Harry placed one hand on Draco’s shoulder and the other on the curve of his lover’s bump. “Feel good?” Harry asked. 

“More than good,” Draco replied, his voice husky with lust.“Worth the wait.” He brought his hand up and laced their finger together. “Move for me? I want to feel every bit of your lovely big cock.”

Draco’s wish was Harry’s command. He leant forward, brushing light kisses over Draco’s sweat-salty skin as he began to gently rock his hips forward and backwards. Circe, but Draco felt amazing around his penis. He was smooth, hot and tight inside but he didn’t feel tense at all. 

Although he had known as much already, Harry knew in that moment that he truly loved Draco. It was such a golden gift to just hold his hand, to make love to him and feel the heat and closeness of his body. 

“Kiss me,” Harry asked, getting up on one elbow and leaning over. “Please.”

Draco did. Their kiss was shallow, a mere brush of lips, but for Harry it felt like everything. Draco looked exquisite as mouths met – his hair mussed up and his eyes hazy – and Harry felt his heart almost burst with longing. It wasn’t enough that he was here in Half-Moon Lane or that he was sharing Draco’s bed. He wanted this for the rest of this life. Their lovemaking was necessarily tender and gentle. Harry didn’t want to get carried away and cause Draco any kind of pain. He wanted to take care of Draco, above and beyond every other outcome. 

Harry rocked his hips back and forth, keeping his thrusts small and shallow but that didn’t matter: every motion of his body felt fantastic. There was a wonderful natural synergy between the pair of them; their bodies swayed and coiled together like they’d been making love for years. 

Draco’s magic tingled all over Harry’s skin, pin-pricks of exhilaration that left him feeling like he been dosed with Amortentia. Harry felt lost in Draco; felt consumed and overwhelmed. 

“A little more,” Draco begged after a few minutes. “ _Please_. I-I won’t break.”

Harry picked up the pace. He thrust again, more sharply this time and soon built up his rhythm until he couldn’t tell where Draco began and he ended. It was as if they were two parts of the same being. Draco made the most delicious, throaty little noises with every thrust and Harry knew that he wouldn’t last forever. “Harry,” Draco said, voice ragged, “I _can’t_ \- I can’t reach… I can’t touch myself properly. Please will you help me?”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He moved his hand downwards and took hold of Draco’s lovely cock. Draco’s length was hard and slick, just from the sensation of having him inside him and Harry felt a flush of pride. This was, by far, the most sexually intimate moment he’d ever had and he wondered briefly how lovemaking could ever get any better than this. Draco’s whole body shuddered and shivered as Harry stroked him in time with the thrusts of his hips. 

Harry could feel his own orgasm begin to build; he could feel the relentless heat starting to spread from the head of his penis and his strokes and squeezes grew faster alongside each of his thrusts. Their bodies were perfectly in sync with one another. 

“How can you be so _perfect?_ ” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear. “You’re a deity. You don’t have any idea of how beautiful you look, so full of your baby, letting me make love to you. You’re divine, Draco. The most erotic sight that I’ve ever seen-”

“Make me come, Harry,” Draco begged. “Love, _please_.” 

Harry felt sure that Draco’s body must be aching by now so he decided to finish things and make his lover feel brilliant as he deserved. He thrust into Draco – once, twice – and before Harry had a chance to do anything more, Harry felt Draco’s cock twitch. His lover came with a choked gasp, wetting Harry’s fist with his orgasm just as his arse clenched down on Harry’s cock. 

Harry buried his head in the crook of Draco’s neck, inhaling his lover’s rich, heady scent as he followed him directly over the edge. His vision blurred, his blood raced and every cell of his body coiled and prickled as Harry ejaculated, deep inside his darling. Together the pair collapsed into a sticky, sweaty tangle as aftershocks rolled through Harry’s body. The two men shared a long, deep kiss and then Harry slowly withdrew his wilting member. 

“Don’t you move,” Harry murmured as Draco started shifting in his arms. 

Sliding off the side of the bed, Harry picked up his wand from where he’d dropped it on the carpet. He cleaned Draco, himself and the bedsheets with a _Scourgify_ and then walked around the bed to get back into his first position. Harry lay on his side, facing Draco so that he could really see the other wizard and he couldn’t have been happier with the vision before him. 

Draco seemed simply to _glow_ – blissed out from their lovemaking, perhaps – and he was looking across at Harry like a man in love. His grey eyes were blown wide and his damp lips were slightly parted. The pulse leapt in his throat. 

Truly, if Harry were forced to die again, in that moment he would have done so a very happy man. Draco was sweating, red cheeked – and _very_ pregnant – and Harry couldn’t imagine a more attractive view. 

“That was… It was perfect,” Draco murmured, clearly exhausted but still wanting to speak. “Like a dream come true.” He smiled weakly as Harry lent over, pressing a kiss on his forehead. “I know that I've been odd these last few months,” Draco continued. He touched the side of his bump lovingly. “From the moment that I got pregnant I _was_ overjoyed – and terrified and a _million_ other emotions – but I was wistful too-”

“You don’t need to speak,” Harry said, untucking the quilt from beneath them both and pulling it over Draco and he. It was October and their body heat was already beginning to dissipate. “And you don’t need to justify yourself. We’re together now. That’s all that matters.”

Draco yawned. Harry could see that sleep was already overtaking him. 

“I want to,” Draco continued. “I felt like my baby would preclude us ever being together.” He laughed, a small delicate sound. “And while I could accept that – it was as if a new door had opened, when another had closed – it still broke me a little, every single time we were together. I didn’t cope well-”

“Hush,” Harry said, tangling their limbs together and brushing a damp lock of hair away from Draco’s eyes. “I’m only glad that I never hurt you. I was so terribly afraid that I must have done.”

“You never could,” Draco replied, his voice barely audible. His eyes were closed now and Harry could tell he was actively fighting slumber. “Will you stay?” Draco asked, “I love you.” 

His fingers were knitted through Harry’s. Draco was holding onto him tightly, as if he were afraid that Harry might suddenly Apparate away and that their whole encounter had been some fantastical dream. 

“I love you too,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around Draco’s swollen middle. Everything that he’d wanted was finally coming true. “And I promise you. I’m not going anywhere.”


	6. Chapter 6

December.

The next six weeks were a whirlwind. Harry’s old existence felt like a robe that no longer fitted and he shook it off without a second thought, packing all his belongings into his old school truck and moving into Half-Moon Place less than a week after they had first spent the night together. 

Harry wanted to spend every waking hour at Draco’s side: they’d already wasted too many years not being honest about their feelings. 

The biggest surprise wasn’t how happy Harry felt, or how well that Draco and got on – that didn’t surprise Harry in the slightest – but how busy his life suddenly became. Every single day was frantic. Phoenix was still as busy as it had even been but now there were St Mungos appointments to slot in between trips to the office, parenting and delivery classes to attend as well as cuddling on the settee and sex to fill the weekends. 

There were child-proofing spells to set, a nursery to decorate and a million things that still needed buying. Draco’s baby, when they arrived, would have a far bigger wardrobe than he himself had ever managed. 

Harry couldn’t believe that his life was as brilliant as it was and he half-wondered when he’d wake up. Draco was insatiable and Harry grew obsessed with his lover’s beautiful, ever-changing shape. Harry hadn’t realised how much the baby would grow in their final months. Draco’s bump was large and heavy, jutting proudly away from his body and Harry couldn’t help but find the sight of him alluring. It took very little for Harry to push Draco back on their bed and worship him with his hands, his mouth and honeyed words. Pansy had been right, of course: all of their friends and family had known for years that Harry and Draco were soulmates. Harry only wished that one of them had taken the time to mention the fact – it would have saved a whole _forest_ of pining – but there was nothing to be done about that fact now. The two of them were in love and they were expecting a baby. 

Their future felt so luminous that when Harry noticed the streams of enchanted fairy lights hung in the trees outside of Phoenix he was momentarily taken aback. 

December – and _Christmas_ – had arrived without Harry noticing it. Pansy laughed at Harry when he mentioned it the following day. The two of them had met surreptitiously, attempting to plan a baby shower for Draco in the rapidly diminishing time left before the baby arrived. 

“You’ve both been otherwise engaged,” Pansy said, flicking through the WizKids catalogue with a practised finger. Whenever Pansy got to a picture that she liked she tore out the page. Harry bit back a smile: there wasn’t much catalogue left. “You do need to make the effort though – put up a tree, hang the tinsel around Half-Moon Place – because this is your only Christmas as a couple. You ought to make some memories! This time next year the little one will be here. Merlin, they’ll nearly be one.” Pansy made a determined face before ripping out another page. “Plus, it’ll be the _ideal_ aesthetic for the baby shower. Hop to it, Potter. I want your home looking like Santa’s own workshop.”

Pansy seemed to consider the matter closed so Harry set to work, buying the biggest tree that he could find and installing in the corner of Half-Moon’s lounge. A small stasis charm would keep the tree looking green and healthy all the way through Christmas and then Harry’s intention was to replant it outside in their garden. 

The sheer number and variety of decorations had been a surprise too and Harry had found himself returning home with more Diagon packages and bags than he ever could have imagined. Harry decorated the tree with glittering miniatures of Hogwarts Castle, of the Express and tiny cauldrons and dancing broomsticks. It all made for a terribly twee sight in Draco’s sophisticated home but the blond wizard – watching proceedings from the comfort of the settee – didn’t really seem to mind. 

Draco charmed several of the burgundy baubles Slytherin-green but, otherwise, seemed quite excited about the explosion of Christmas that had overwhelmed their home. 

~~

It grew dark early on the afternoon of Draco’s baby shower. 

It was late in December – close to the winter solstice – and Harry was glad of the colourful, cheerful fairy lights and tinsel that criss-crossed the walls. 

Harry was grateful, too, that Pansy and he had decided on just a small, family affair. Draco was due in only two weeks and he had begun to really find his pregnancy hard going. Draco spent most of his life snoozing and the rest of it curled up on the settee, his head resting on Harry’s lap, eyes closed while Harry carefully carded his fingers through his flowing blond hair. 

Andromeda and Teddy were the first to arrive. The witch brought her speciality dish, a three-tier chocolate cake, which she had wrapped up in protective magic. 

Andi sent it levitating through to the kitchen as soon as she walked through the Floo and then Harry pressed a kiss on her powdery cheek. “It’s so wonderful to see you both,” Andromeda said. “And look what you’ve done with the place! I’ve never seen it look so festive!” Draco was sat down in a chair but made to stand up as his Aunty came closer. “Please, don’t feel the need to stand up,” the witch said, smiling. 

Draco didn’t move and let himself be kissed and fussed over. Harry knew full well that he’d have loathed being treated with such kid gloves in the past but right now Draco didn’t seem to mind. He smiled and thanked his Aunt. Pansy and Theo arrived next, bearing a pineapple upside-down cake, and they were closely followed by Ron and Hermione. Narcissa brought a decorated sponge cake, Elf-made and decorated with frosted blue flowers. 

Conversation for the afternoon predictably revolved around the impending addition to their family. Narcissa informed the party of how terribly fussy Draco had been as a little one, to which Ron joked that very little had changed. Draco tossed the crumpled paper from one of his gifts at Ron’s head and it hit him with perfect aim. 

More cake was eaten than was strictly healthy and Harry couldn’t have asked for more love. Everybody was behind them and it was obvious that Draco’s baby would be adored from the very day they arrived in the world. The only fly in Harry’s potion came from an innocent joke that Teddy made unknowingly. 

“Will the baby have Harry’s mad hair?” the young wizard had asked, digging into his vanilla cheesecake with gusto. “That’d be wicked,” Teddy continued, warming to his subject, “if it was blond like Draco’s and stuck up in every direction like Harry’s! That kid’ll have the best hair in the whole family, after mine of course!” 

Harry felt his cheeks heat up at Teddy’s innocent comment. Teds couldn’t have known but his words had cut Harry to the quick. All of their friends and family giggled at the funny image and soon conversation moved on, but Harry felt like the broomstick had been pulled out from beneath him. For the rest of the evening, Harry smiled and laughed in all the right places, but inside he felt hollow. Aside from Pansy and Draco’s relations, he was starting to realise that most of their friends assumed that Draco’s baby was biologically _his_. 

Harry wanted to be a father to Draco’s baby so very much. He wanted Teddy’s joky assumption to be the truth. 

It wasn’t enough for him only to help the man he loved raise a stranger's child. Harry wanted next Christmas to be their first as a proper family of three, with their own traditions and rituals. He wanted to be a real father, like his own that he’d never been lucky enough to know. 

By the time that their guests put on their coats to leave, Draco was pink around the ears and stifling a yawn every other minute. Harry watched as his partner stood up, ignoring his exhaustion and ever-present backache to hug each of his loved ones goodbye. 

Harry felt his heart lurch. Draco deserved better than him. 

Draco turned to Harry the moment that his mother finally Flooed away. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, laying his hand across Harry’s forearm. “You were in such good spirits and then _pfft_. You simply weren't. Nobody else noticed,” he continued, worry crossing his features, “but I don’t think anyone else knows you like I do. Tell me love. What changed?”

Harry led Draco to the settee and the two of them sat down. Their whole lounge looked bright and seasonal. Coloured lights from the tree danced over his beloved’s face and the room felt warm and safe. Harry felt rotten for ruining their happy ending. He knew he had to be honest though. Draco deserved to know everything that he was feeling. 

“It hit me today,” Harry said, hanging his head and not daring to meet Draco’s eyes, “that in a couple of week your baby will be here. They’ll sleep in the Moses basket we’ve already set up beside our bed. Later they’ll move into the yellow bedroom that we painted together. We’re going through this together. We live together and we’re going to raise them together too and I already love them, Draco, but I’m not their dad. I’m not really _anything_ to do with them. I know you said they’d have dark hair but I’m not sure that’s enough, love. Not truly.”

Draco didn’t ask Harry to leave. Instead, he took Harry’s hand. As Draco began to speak he looked at Harry in earnest. 

“I think what you’re feeling is my fault,” Draco answered. “I should have made things clear between us earlier but the last few weeks? It’s been heavenly and as far as I’ve been concerned, I’ve always thought you _are_ our baby’s other father. That’s how it’s always been for me, from the beginning. An equal parent to me, in every way. I don’t give a single Sickle about biology. I never have, Harry. You’re the man that I love and so we’ll love and raise this baby together. If – one day – our baby has questions then we’ll answer them together as well. We’ll say that being a father is more than bloodlines. It’s _more_ than inherited features. Fatherhood is a choice, one that you make every day of your life.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have adequate words for what Draco had just said and everything that it meant for the rest of his life. In less than two weeks he was going to be a father. Harry opened his mouth and tried to speak. He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to assure Draco that there’d never be another baby that was as loved or as cared for, not in the whole world. 

Of all the things that have ever been said to Harry, Draco’s words were the most significant, the most important. Harry didn’t say any of those things, though. Instead, Harry brought Draco’s knuckles up to his lips and brushed a single, chaste kiss across them.

His words, when they finally emerged, surprised Harry every bit as much as they did Draco. 

“Will you bond with me?” Harry asked. “Take my name? I want to love you and our baby forever. I want us to be a real family.”

~~

Harry had thought Pansy’s baby shower planning was both efficient and thoroughgoing, but that paled in comparison with the preparation she put into their bonding ceremony. Draco and he had decided to make their commitment three weeks after Draco’s due date and both wizards wanted it to be a small, private affair. Harry didn’t want the fuss or attention, or the _Prophet_ headlines, of a large society occasion whilst Draco wasn’t sure that he wanted a million photos of him quite so soon after giving birth. 

The two of them had decided to make their bond in Draco’s favourite place – his garden at the Manor – surrounded by all the people they cared about. They’d have their reception at Half-Moon Place afterwards, eat a spread of scrumptious food and try not to overwhelm the baby with all the excitement. 

Pansy had everything in hand so Harry’s only job was was to collect the bonding rings, which was how he came to be stood in the Goblin Goldsmiths late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. The wizard had rarely seen Diagon Alley so frantic. Witches, wizards and House- Elves dived and scattered in every direction, arms piled high with parcels and presents, all of them collecting last minute gifts, bottles of Firewhisky and Cauldron Cakes. 

There was a frisson of excitement in the air and Draco had asked to come along too, wanting to feel the magic of Christmas but Harry had put his foot down. The cobbles were slippery with melted slush and Draco’s centre of gravity had been a little off for a while. Harry had left Draco at home with a kiss, Narcissa, and a plate of mince pies to enjoy. 

The bonding rings were items of rare beauty and Harry couldn’t have been more pleased with how they had turned out. The Master Goblin Goldsmith had set them with a charm that meant they could never be lost, mislaid or stolen. As long as their love remained true, so would the sheen of the matching gold bands. Harry was stood at the till, watching the Assistant wrap the rings in purple tissue paper when he felt the tingle of Draco’s magic on his skin. 

To his utmost surprise, Draco’s Camargue stallion Patronus appeared before him, shimmering and bright in the dull of the afternoon. For a moment Harry half-wondered whether he would be dispatched to collect box of gooseberry ice-cream – Draco’s last and most stubborn craving – when the Patronus spoke.  
_“Harry,”_ Draco said, his voice was high and panicky. _“Mum’s just getting my bag, love. We’re going to Floo to St Mungos. I’ve been feeling a bit achy and I think- I think it’s time-”_

Harry felt his heart skip a couple of beats. Their baby wasn’t due for nearly another two weeks! He really thought they’d have more time! They had been due for dinner at the Weasleys tomorrow for Christmas Dinner and then Narcissa had been coming over to share a late supper… Harry’s heart was racing, his hands were unsteady and he had to swallow a couple of times before he could find his voice to cast his reply.

This was really happening – happening right _now_ – and Harry didn’t know whether to be terrified or elated. 

_“I’ll be there in just a few minutes,”_ Harry promised, successfully keeping most of the nerves out of his voice. _“Are you okay? Are you- are you in a lot of pain?”_

 _“I’m really okay,”_ Draco answered. _“We Firecalled Healer Blatherwick after I’d had a couple of contractions and he said that everything sounds completely normal. He thought that I should get myself to hospital as soon as I could – things can get a bit dicier with wizard labour – but it isn’t too terrible yet. Meet us there love? Be safe. I love you.”_

 _“I love you too,”_ Harry told him, grimacing as he heard the unmistakable sound of Draco’s groan of pain. His beloved’s voice was replaced by the clipped, efficient tones of Narcissa, who gave him the Floo coordinates and waited until Harry could repeat it back to her without stumbling over the number. _“Don’t Apparate!”_ she cautioned. _“Draco is doing well but the last thing he needs is you being brought in for a splicing injury.”_

Harry gave Narcissa his word before ending their conversation with a slash of his wand. 

The Goldsmith had heard every word of the conversation and he hustled Harry though into his home at the back of the shop, pressing the purple parcel into his hands at the very last moment possible. Luckily for Harry, the Goblin’s hearth was joined to the Floo and, within minutes, Harry found himself spinning and twirling through the network, anxious to get to Draco’s side as soon as he possibly could. 

Draco’s face was pink and a little flushed when Harry arrived at the St Mungos Paternity Suite only minutes later but he didn’t look terribly uncomfortable. Harry was out of breath: he had run half the corridors of St Mungos, trying to fond the right entrance in the labyrinthine building. 

Even though Pansy and Narcissa were both in attendance at the bedside, Harry pulled Draco into his arm and pressed a long, deep kiss onto his lips. He wanted to express all of the emotions – his fears and his joy – that didn’t have the words for. When the two broke apart, Draco was smiling. The wizard was dressed in an awful green hospital smock – and his hair had been pulled back from his face with a stretchy black band – but Harry didn’t think that Draco had ever looked quite as handsome as he did just then. 

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked, taking Draco’s hand in his own as he sat down beside the bed. “I can scarcely believe this is real.” 

“Oh, it’s very real,” Draco answered, making the smallest of flinches as he spoke. The monitoring quill, set to record Draco’s heartbeat and blood pressure jumped a little, scratching its way over a roll of parchment. “The Magi-Midwives think that it’ll still be a couple of hours, but that our baby will definitely come in the next few hours.”

Harry felt the enormity of the situation hit him like a hex. 

He was going to be a father today, far sooner than he had imagined. The date didn’t matter though. Everything was ready for Draco and he to meet their little one and take them home. The nursery at Half- Moon Place was set up and full of more toys than Harry had ever seen in one place. Draco and he had brought clothing, blankets and had everything just so. Harry knew that they were more than prepared. 

But there was still one more thing that Harry wanted to do. 

“Well, that’s good news,” Harry said softly. He took the rings from the pocket of his coat, where their purple box had made a heavy, awkward shape and held them, clutched in his fingers, “because it means that we’ve still got time. Draco – when you sent me that Patronus, I’d just collected our bonding rings – and I’ve brought them with me. Will you do me the honour of bonding your life to mine today, before our baby is born?”

Draco’s eyes widened and Harry could see he was shocked by Harry’s proposal. Harry felt a little surprised himself. He had realised what he was going to say until the words had left his mouth. 

“I don’t understand,” Draco said, his fingers tightening around Harry as a contraction blanched the colour from his face. “We’ve- _oh!_ \- we’ve got everything sorted.” Draco paused, closed his eyes and let out a slow breath before speaking again. “Is this because you’re ashamed to bond to an unwed father? Because you don’t want an illegitimate baby?”

Harry couldn’t help but snort in laughter. That wasn’t it at all. Those reasons hadn’t even entered his brain. He knelt down, finding Draco’s grey eyes with his own and Harry gazed at him, full of ardent love. 

“No,” Harry replied. “None of that matters to me in the slightest. The reason I want to make our bonds before this baby comes is because I love them more than anything else in this world. I don’t want there to even be a second of their existence where you, I and they weren't a family.” Harry put his hand on Draco’s hard, contracting belly. “They brought us together, Draco and one day I’d like to tell them that their birth was the day I realised I couldn't spend another day without being bonded to both of you. _They_ are my family, Draco and I understand that now. Let me make this commitment, love. I want this bond with both of you.”

As Harry spoke, tears welled in the corner of Draco’s eyes and as he came to the end of his speech one escaped. It rolled down over his cheekbone, so Harry wiped it away with a finger. 

“And we can still have that party,” Harry added with a smile. “The cake, the confetti. Everything.” 

~~

Harry would have bonded with Draco there and then, in their tiny side room but Draco didn’t relish that plan at all. The blond wizard wanted the most romantic moment of his whole life to happen in a room that wasn’t whitewashed, clinical or smelt like starchy sheets and so Harry reluctantly agreed to his request. 

Healer Blatherwick gave took Draco’s temperature, his blood pressure and finally checked that their baby wasn’t imminent and eventually agreed that ten minutes outside of the Paternity Suite shouldn't be too dangerous. Harry promised to bring Draco back if there were any change in his condition whatsoever. Narcissa, Pansy and Harry took Draco out into a small courtyard that stood empty on Christmas Eve night. 

In the short time since Harry had arrived at St. Mungos snow had begun to fall and thick flakes drifted down, settling on the twisted branches of the trees. 

The whole scene was ethereal – gossamer and _unreal_ – and Harry had the oddest feeling that it had been waiting for the pair of them, a stage set ready for the actors to play their roles. Flakes dusted over Draco’s hair and eyelashes and Harry kissed each of them away, overawed by the love welling over in his heart. He didn’t want Draco to get cold, so he cast a warming spell over him, the shimmers of the spell bright in the winter night. 

Harry led Draco to a small clearing and took his hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over them to keep them from trembling. 

Pansy stepped forward and swept her wand around the pair of them in a great sweeping circle. 

“As love springs eternal, so you will be lovers,” the witch intoned, casting the enchantment. “Neither are destined to ever love another. If there ever came a time when you were apart, your bond will connect you at the core of your heart. You are but one, to each you are thine. For the rest of your life connected, together for all of time.”

As Pansy spoke Harry felt the magical bond curl through his body. It felt like a vine, writhing and blooming in his veins and rooting in his heart. He felt Draco’s heartbeat racing beside his own. Magic glowed between them, weighty and powerful. 

The moment went far too fast and less than a minute later the spell was fixed forever and inviolable. The ring was a perfect fit on Draco’s finger and as his husband slipped the matching ring onto Harry felt true joy. 

He was bonded with Draco Malfoy and no force on Earth could tear them apart. 

~~

Lily Narcissa Holly Potter-Malfoy was born at ten past three on the morning of Christmas Day. 

Their little girl was beautiful and when the Magi-Midwife placed her in Draco’s arms, Harry found that he simply couldn’t look away. His husband looked worn-out: his sweaty hair stuck up in every direction and his face was blotchy – shiny with tears – but he was radiant too. His husband and his baby, there together one bed. The two loves of his life. In that moment, Harry knew, without a single shadow of a doubt, that he was the happiest wizard in existence. 

Their lives were entwined; a new family they had created just for themselves. Lily’s hair was dark, just like his own and Harry knew, on seeing her in Draco’s arms, that his life was complete.

THE END 

**Author's Note:**

> Draco's baby isn't Harry's. Draco chose to get pregnant by artificial insemination and he has been in love with Harry since both were still at Hogwarts. Draco decided to have a baby because he thought his fertility was waning. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. xxxx


End file.
